Dreamer
by FlowerChild17
Summary: Jenna loves the Beatles, but more specifically, she's always been intrigued by George Harrison. Living in 2012, she knows it's pointless to keep up her infatuation - he's dead, and she doesn't believe in heaven, so it's not likely that he'll ever look down and notice her. She knows that. That is, till things begin to happen that make her rethink that. ATU/Beatles.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey there, fellow fanfictioners. This is just a little idea for a story I had, I haven't seen this up on FF before so I thought I'd put it here. **

**Note: I don't believe in heaven or in existence after death. My beliefs are purely existential. But I'm also a dreamer, so I do like to imagine things. This is purely fictional, of course. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

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**Dreamer**

**Chapter One: Faces**

Spirals.

Jenna always drew spirals in Biology class. Perfectly coiled circular spirals, equidistant lines revolving around themselves in a timeless circle of space, dwindling out into infinity, or until her hand slipped and one of the lines ran into the others, which was _so _annoying. _Enough spirals for now_. Instead she drew a face: a familiar face: the face of Sir James Paul McCartney, the fine aristocratic nose above the slightly drooping large hazel eyes, the thin upper lip and fat lower lip set in a near-pout over the protruding, prominent chin. And of course the mop-top of hair: the part she liked drawing best.

Next to his, she drew John's face: sly narrowed eyes - her graphite pencil markings didn't show their rich coffee colour - above the long nose that ended in a point, though the front-view of her drawing didn't show that - and the thin, curving lips, all set between slightly feminine but still attractive cheekbones and framed by a sideways-brushed mop top. Ah, the mop top. John's face was always the easiest to draw.

Below Paul, she began to draw Ringo. Ringo's was difficult to master. The shape of his nose was easy to mess up. It lacked the perfection of Paul's nose, but Jenna had never understood why people made fun of Ringo's nose. She thought it was kind of adorable. She finished drawing the nose, surprised to find that it had come out alright this time, and then she drew his eyes - again, the light grey shading she brushed upon them didn't do justice to their brilliant blue - and then traced his mouth and the shape of his cheekbones and chin. Ringo's mop top was not as unruly as Paul and John's; more shaped.

And then there was a gap: for three of the Beatles had been drawn, and the fourth gap was left for the fourth Beatle. But Jenna's drawings could never do justice to his beautiful face. No pencil could capture the shape of his nose: a little straight, a little crooked; nor the cheekbones, so perfectly set in his face, hollowing his cheeks; his lips, finely shaped, that split so beautifully into a beam brighter than the sun when he smiled. Those weren't the features that Jenna couldn't capture, though. She could even draw those so that they did, to some extent, resemble him. It was the eyes she couldn't get.

The eyes. Large eyes, almond-shaped eyes, eyes that hinted bits of underlying soul but didn't reveal too much - and yet they were so expressive, so lively, they contained so _much _in those brown and golden lights.

How Jenna wished she could, just for once, _see _those eyes - and not in a picture. Not on the internet - though the internet offered plenty two-dimensional imprintings of them - not in a book, though Jenna owned several that displayed them - not even on a television screen, where they moved and blinked just like they were real. She wanted to see them for real. Real enough that she could reach out and touch them to make sure they were there. Not that she needed to: she'd be okay with just seeing them.

There was no point in even trying to draw that beautiful face. She'd tried too many times before. Sighing heavily, Jenna erased the three faces and opened her notebook, and set about trying to replicate her teacher's diagram of the cross-section of a monocot's primary root.

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**Thanks for reading :D Was this chapter to monotonous? The story hasn't really begun yet. It'll start soon, I promise. **

**Also. The Jenna in this story isn't based on me, I kind of hate it when authors do that. I know that on my profile it says my name is Jenna, but it's not really, I just think it's a pretty name. :) **

**Please tell me what you think :) -Jen. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey readers! Thanks for reviewing. :] **

**A little background on this chapter: George is dead, and he's in a place called Here. Again, I do not believe in existence after that, but this is fanFICTION, and also this story falls under the Fantasy category. :) **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

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**Dreamer**

**Chapter Two: Tell Me What You See**

In **Here**, days stretch on endlessly.

They dip into night sometimes, but in the end it always becomes day again. And days can be wonderful things - filled with things to do. Mostly, I just wander the lands of **Here**, or I visit people - mostly Mum and Dad, sometimes John and Stu, who live together in a little flat just like they used to **Before. **It's easy to make friends **Here **too, and I've got a bunch. Things are so much simpler **Here**. It's freer - no rules, really - I guess that's because **Here**, there's a sense of timelessness that's only too real. Because everything _is _timeless. I've been **Here **for over ten years and things are pretty much the same, except that every so often new people come in. That's not a problem. **Here **doesn't have any boundary. I've met people who have travelled far in all directions, and have reached no kind of boundary.

Today I decide to look for John. To my surprise, I find him **Looking**.

I guess I should explain about **Looking**.

Often, newcomers in **Here **are obsessed with their pasts, which lie far behind, unreachable. There's a place where you can **Look**, and from there you can see everything that's going on in the world that we've left. Most newcomers spend all of their time **Looking**, but eventually the curiosity to see what's in **Here **drags them away. I spent a fair amount of time watching the people I love when I first arrived, but now I only watch them when I miss them.

The reason I'm surprised to find John **Looking **is because he rarely **Looks**. He's bitter, I think - or used to be - that Yoko so easily remarried after he died. And he hates to watch Yoko and Paul's ongoing feud. Most of the other people he loves, though, are **Here **too.

'What're you **Looking **at?' I ask him. He starts, his round glasses slipping down his nose. He looks different than he did before he died: he looks like he did when he was around twenty-one, except his hair is much longer, his face is more mature, and his glasses are the round ones he wore later in his life.

'I like to take a **Look **now and then,' he says, haughtily. 'Just ta see they're missing me enough. They had a special concert as a tribute to me today!' He grins, slightly foolishly, smug. 'That's right, today's your birthday,' I realize.

'You forgot,' sniffs John, pretending to be hurt. 'Hey, it's hard to keep track of time **Here**,' I protest. Nobody cares much for the date - what's the point? There are no newspapers **Here**. 'Since I'm here, I may as well take a **Look **too.'

First I check on Olivia, my wife. I find her brushing her hair in front of the mirror. She looks older, which is strange since I don't look old at all - I choose to appear as I did when I was in my early twenties - but she seems happy nevertheless. It's a little early in the morning for her. As always, I feel a slight twinge of regret that I can't communicate with her. One gets used to it, though.

Then I** Look** for Dhani. There's a kind of pride that you get as a father, watching your son, that you don't get with anything else. He's in his thirties now, but still with that young face, and a handsome one too. People always tell him he looks exactly like his father. It's true, he does, an incredible amount. 'Ah, the little one's growing,' says John indulgently. I roll my eyes at him. I didn't realise he was watching, too. Dhani's still asleep - I watch him dreaming for a few moments, and then I move on.

I find Ringo sitting in a recording studio, crashing on the drums. He's just fooling around. I miss Ringo. He was one of my closest friends: through the limelight of John and Paul's songwriting successes, he and I stuck together. 'Still can't keep a bloody beat,' jokes John, but his eyes are affectionate. Once you get **Here**, things like petty dislikes and fights seem stupid and inconsequential.

Paul. Paul looks incredibly _old - _like grandfatherly old. I'm glad that my old friend has found a new wife and is content, though at the moment he's in the bathroom doing something I'd rather not keep watching. 'Eugh, Georgie. I know Macca's got a pretty face, but ya don't have to watch him right now,' complains John.

I stop **Looking**. 'Well, I'd best be going,' says John. 'Come around sometime today? We'll have a couple o' drinks, smoke a little, hang out.' I nod. 'I'll come.' John skips away. He's so much more carefree and happy **Here**.

I'm not done **Looking **though. I don't always watch people; sometimes I just watch things in general, how they're going. I look at some cars whizzing by on a street; people walking up and down; a small girl playing hopscotch on the sidewalk. I **Look **into a school and watch a girl by the window - she's doodling on her desk. I **Look **closer and to my surprise, recognize her drawing. It's Paul and John, their faces from the album cover, Revolver. People singing Beatles songs and wearing Beatles shirts are common, so I don't know why I keep watching as she draws - with impressive accuracy - she's drawing Ringo's face. When she's done with that, I wait for her to draw my face. She's staring at the gap where my face should be. Her eyes are so dark that I think they must be black, like her irises are small circles of night, or maybe obsidian. The tip of her pencil has stilled. I'm waiting, waiting, with growing anticipation, for her to complete the album cover drawing, but then she just sighs and erases the whole drawing.

Disappointed, I **Look **at her teacher - her teacher is droning to a class full of students, half of whom are sleeping or distracted. The girl who was drawing takes out a notebook and quickly copies down what the teacher is telling the class to from the board. When she's done, she turns her face sideways. Straight at me. She's staring right at me, though she can't possibly know it. I notice suddenly that, her eyes, which I thought were black, aren't. The sun hits them and unlocks kaleidoscopes of golden, hazel and brown that were hidden before. Those beautiful eyes bore into me, and I feel my face heat. Then she turns away, the sun sliding out of her eyes, her dark hair falling over her shoulders like a curtain.

Her eyes are black once more.

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**Was this chapter too cryptic? **

**Review and tell me what you think :) -Jen. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for the reviews :) **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

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**Dreamer**

**Chapter Three: A Day In The Life**

If there was one thing Jenna was good at, it was zoning out to the world and pretending like she was completely attentive.

And so she nodded as her friend Mandy blabbered in her ear - _'_I _know _he was looking at me in Maths, I'm absolutely positive, but when I looked at him he looked away, all shy' - and gave every impression of listening intently and hanging onto every word, while she was really staring out at the city whirling by her bus window, and playing a psychedelic song in her head. Psychedelic music, Jenna thought, made the world beautiful. Anything could be beautiful if you were listening to psychedelic music. She loosened her hair from its ponytail and let it fall around her shoulders - the wind surging in from the gap in the bus window immediately snatched it up and played with it. Letting her hair out of that oppressive ponytail felt so good - the school authorities insisted on girls having their hair tied all the time. It was really such a pain. Jenna thought her hair was her only real beauty: long and dark and thick.

'Do you think he'll freak if I tell him?' Mandy was saying plaintively. Jenna dragged her eyes from the window, the psychedelic music draining out from her ears. 'No, not at all,' said Jenna, as if she knew exactly who Mandy was talking about. 'Go right ahead.'

'Okay!' said Mandy happily, and launched into a long self-supporting discussion about whether the said boy would like it if she left him a note or told him to his face.

There was a time when Jenna used to think about the guys in her school, too. She remembered having a crush on a boy in the seventh grade, and being completely self-conscious every time he passed. But something had changed since the ninth grade. Normal boys lost their charm. The twenty-first century, in her opinion, was losing taste, as compared to the sixties and seventies - even the eighties and nineties. She didn't particularly care for the football-obsessed boys in her grade. Nor did she care for the fake, shallow politics of the girls. Apart from her friends, that is - all of whom were fans of sixties music, and completely uninterested in the pop artists that seemed to be all the craze.

Oddly enough, as soon as she stopped making an effort with the others, she was instantly accepted and fit in. Oh, well. Jenna might not have had similar interests as most of her classmates, but the motto of her life was, after all, _All you need is love_. She talked to them sometimes about inconsequential things, like teachers and school. Enough that they were friendly towards her.

'My stop's here.' Jenna gladly picked up her backpack and walked down the aisle. As she stepped down from the bus, a voice from behind startled her. 'So, how was that movie you were watching?' She turned around and came face to face with a tall boy who had a mop of brown hair. Matt. 'Which movie?' she asked, confused.

'Across the Universe,' he said eagerly.

'Oh, right.' Vaguely, Jenna remembered telling him she was watching it. That inspired her interest. It's fucking awesome!'

'Well, if you had to use the f-word to describe it, it must be,' he commented. 'I can't imagine you ever abusing.'

'That's why I do.' Jenna suppressed an irritated sigh. She hated it when people called her innocent - they took one look at her face and decided that that was the only thing she could ever be. She wasn't innocent. Or young for her age. Screw them.

'So, what's it about?' prompted Matt.

There was a time when Jenna would've done anything she could to prolong a conversation with him at the bus stop. Being one of the only boys her age she knew who had good taste in music - _and _he wasn't too bad-looking - she'd had a crush on him in eighth grade. But, she mused, normal boys lost their charm when compared with - others, for example, the Beatles. Or maybe the Rolling Stones. Matt was nice, but he just wasn't her type. Maybe she was being picky. There wasn't any reason for her not to be. Fifteen years old, she sometimes wished she had a boyfriend - like any teenage girl - but there was never any particular person she had in mind. Okay, she did have some in mind, but they were all either dead or above the age of fifty. Wanting to date _them _would just be creepy.

There wasn't any reason for her to turn away a good friendship, though. 'It's about a bunch of people in the sixties,' she said. 'It's a musical with Beatles songs.'

'Whoa!' he exclaimed, probably showing more enthusiasm than her description warranted - though Jenna did love the movie. That, she decided, was what she would've done, if she was in the sixties.

'Yep.' She smiled. 'You should watch it.' She turned to the road to cross it. 'See you later.' She didn't turn as she heard him calling goodbye; instead she crossed the road to the market on the other side.

That market was the hangout place for her and her friends most evenings, if they were all free. Jenna crossed it every day on her way home. She stopped to buy a Subway sandwich - she didn't feel like cooking for herself when she reached home - and then she bought a bunch of bananas, which she gave to the beggar children sitting outside the market. They jumped and danced ecstatically, showing her their gap-toothed smiles, and she smiled too. _So little, and they're so happy_. She walked the rest of the ten-minute walk home, once more letting strains of music flood her brain. When she reached her house, the driveway was empty - her parents were not home. She reached into her bag for the house key and unlocked the house, surprised to find that the burglar alarm wasn't on. She punched in the code anyway - it didn't let out the familiar _beep _that indicated the alarm being switched off. Strange.

That was when her brother came bounding up the stairs from the basement. 'Hey,' he greeted her, 'how was school?'

'Good,' she answered, flinging her bag onto a chair. 'What're you doing home?' Finding her brother at home in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday was strange - he was always out. 'Band practice,' answered John, grabbing a Coke bottle from the fridge. 'We were waiting for you, so that someone can watch Tadpole while we're practicing.'

'Yeah, sure,' she said. She followed him into the kitchen and found two tall, lanky boys with long hair stuffing their faces with cookies. They waved hello to her. 'These,' exclaimed the shorter one, Jude, 'are awesome! They're the best cookies I've ever had.' Jenna was glad blushes didn't show on her skin - Jude was maybe the only _real _boy she knew that she actually liked, kind of. Since he was a guitarist in her brother's band, and also three years older than her - a year younger than John - it didn't seem like the best choice, but she couldn't do anything about it.

'Yeah,' agreed Tan, her brother's best friend, the bassist. 'How did you make them?'

Once they'd gone downstairs to practice, she tiredly kicked off her shoes and drank two full glasses of water. Then she tiptoed into her baby sister Tadpole's room. Tadpole wasn't her real name - that would be Samira.

Jenna expected Tadpole to be asleep, but instead she found the three-year-old solemnly sitting up in her crib with a doll in her little arms. When Jenna entered the room, Tadpole put one chubby finger to her mouth to indicate that she should be silent. 'Shh! She's almost asleep,' she informed her older sister in a stage whisper.

'Is she, now? And what about you, Miss Tadpole? Aren't you going to take a nap too?'

Tadpole giggled. 'No,' she said.

'Uh, huh. Yes, you are,' Jenna told her sister.

Tadpole scowled. 'Don't want to sleep. I'm a big girl. _You _don't have to take afternoon naps anymore, why do I?' she ended in a wail.

'Mommy takes naps in the afternoon too, doesn't she? And she's the biggest girl in this house!'

Tadpole considered this reasoning. 'Okey dokey,' she said, and consented to taking her nap, all smiles.

After that, Jenna showered, washing out her hair and blow-drying it. Her celphone buzzed in her pocket. She reached it and hit the green button, pressing it to her ear. 'Hello?'

'Hey! It's Ky.'

'Hey, Ky,' said Jenna, laughing at her friend's over-hyper greeting. Kylie was Jenna's best friend. 'Listen, have you done the Geography worksheet?'

'No,' Jenna balanced the phone neatly between her shoulder and ear, and got out her sketchbook. This time, she was _going _to get George's face right. She began the familiar line of Paul's nose.

'So, uh, what is the definition of an atoll?' Kylie asked. 'I can't find it in the book.'

Jenna rattled off the definition, lightly shading Paul's bottom lip. She carefully made the shape of his drooping, large eyes. 'Umm ... and I need the two primary causes for tides,' Kylie said. Jenna told her. 'Girl, why do you know all this shit?'

'I don't know,' giggled Jenna. 'We did this stuff for the first term exams, remember? I'm the queen of memorizing stuff.'

'Too right, you are,' groaned Kylie. 'Does this mean you can help me with Physics, too?'

'Hell no. I hate Physics. I don't see the point in it.' Dammit, she'd drawn Paul's chin too big. She erased it and re-drew it. The curve of his mop top. The shape of his ear.

'I know,' agreed Kylie. 'I'd die in double Physics class if it weren't for you. Anyway, guess what! I just watched _Woodstock._ Ohmygod, you have to see it!'

'Seen it,' answered Jenna. 'Isn't the drum solo in Santana's performance to _die _for?' She and Kylie continued discussing the various performances at length. Jenna drew John's face easily. Then Ringo's. Then she found an image of the album cover _Revolver _on her computer and zoomed into George's face. She noted the small wavers in the line of his nose. the lines that showed the hollowness of his cheeks, the shape of his cheekbones; she memorized the little v-shape of his upper lip, the fullness of his lower lip. The mop-top hair brushing his forehead, almost to his eyes, and framing his face. Lastly, his eyes. She stared at the computer screen for several moments. Then she finally lowered her eyes to the paper and drew his face. Began with the line of his nose. Not completely straight: just a little crooked here, then straight again, ending in his nostrils. Then his mouth: a darker shade than the rest of his pale skin. Cheekbones. Jawline and chin. Mop-top: controlled sweeps of her pencil.

And now eyes:

She touched the pencil to the paper:

And was jerked up by Tadpole's wail calling from the next room. The pencil jerked across the paper, causing a dark line to stretch across the paper. Right where she would've drawn George's eyes - and she _knew _they would've turned out right, this time, if she hadn't been interrupted. Cursing, Jenna let the pencil roll over the edge of her desk and clatter irritatingly to the floor. She ran to Tadpole's room, finding the toddler sitting up in her crib, wailing. Images of horrible scenarios flashed through her head. There seemed to be nothing, however. She lifted Tadpole into her arms, rocking her gently. 'There, there, it's okay,' she murmured soothingly. She balanced the little girl on her knee, kneeling down. 'What's wrong?'

'I had a bad dream,' sniffed Tadpole. 'There was a ... a ...' her mouth contorted into a wail again.

'Shh, it's alright, everything's okay,' Jenna assured her little sister. The door opened. She glanced up. Jude stood in the doorway. 'Thought I heard something,' he said. 'Everything alright?'

'Yeah,' she answered. 'Tadpole just had a bad dream.'

'Oh.' Jude frowned. Jenna might've liked Jude, but his presence wasn't startling any butterflies inside her at the moment - she just wanted to get back to her drawing. And, she realized, Kylie, whom she'd left on the phone without warning. Jenna moved Tadpole's face out of her shoulder and dried her tear-streaked face with a tissue. Then the toddler looked up at Jude towering over her, studying him solemnly with her dark eyes. Jude dropped to his knees so that he wasn't quite so tall as compared to her. 'Why, hello, Miss Tadpole,' he said, holding out one of his hands to shake hers. Tadpole giggled at the mention of Jenna's favourite name for her and offered her tiny hand to Jude. He shook it inside his massive one. She must've liked the look of him, because she suddenly announced, 'I had a dream about duckies.'

'What were the duckies doing?' asked Jude. Tadpole sucked her fingers thoughtfully. 'They were bad duckies,' she informed him. Then she grinned widely and ran over to the corner of her room where she kept her stuffed toys. She picked up a yellow duck toy and carried it back to Jude. 'A good ducky,' she proclaimed, holding it out to Jude. 'Like Dood.'

'Dood?' repeated Jude.

'She means Jude,' giggled Jenna. Jude took the duck, bemused, and then ruffled Tadpole's hair. 'Come on, Tadpole. Good duckies take afternoon naps.' She allowed herself to be lifted into his arms and he set her carefully into the crib as Jenna watched. 'Night, Tadpole.'

'Night, ducky.'

_He's good with kids_, thought Jenna. She and Jude tiptoed out of the room. 'Jude!' yelled John from the stairs that led to the basement. 'Get yer arse here so we can practice some more.' Jude hesitated, glancing at Jenna, and then went. Jenna returned to her room and shut the door. She sent Kylie a text apologizing for hanging up on her, and then she sat down on her desk again. The pencil line across George's face was dark, but maybe she could erase it ... she scrubbed the eraser across it, but to her dismay, she saw the mark engraved by the pencil lingered even after the graphite dust had been brushed away. She tore up the paper and threw it away.

If only she could see those eyes in real life just once, she knew she'd be able to draw them right.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you for all the reviews :) **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

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**Dreamer**

**Chapter Four: Need A Change**

'John, what is this stuff?' I sniff the top of the bottle - this isn't apple juice.

'It's called booze, my dear boy,' says John angelically. Stu snorts. 'Like he didn't know that, John,' he says, rolling his eyes. Stu's been **Here **way longer than John, who's been **Here **longer than me. Not that I'm a newbie or anything. In fact, I feel like an old-timer, sometimes. Only that there are so many who have been **Here **for decades, centuries - and longer. Some of them fade after a while. Mostly because they've been **Here **so long and they haven't made lives for themselves - because if you look at it, being **Here **is kind of like another life, except you don't have to rush to make ends meet, because you'll be here forever.

Sometimes, that's overwhelming. An unchanging forever is an awfully long time ... _really _long. It gets kind of ... monotonous ...

I haven't had booze this strong since I came **Here**. I've mostly left drugs since arriving **Here**. There are some flowers that grow that work the same as psychedelic drugs. Technically, you can't overdose **Here**. I've been careful anyway - in my life, I did some pretty intense stuff with drugs and booze, and I resolved, upon arriving **Here**, to stay away from that stuff. But things _have _been getting a little - _old _- around here. I need a change.

So I tilt the bottle back and take a deep drink. It burns my throat pleasantly.

'Yeah, Georgie!' cheers John. 'Alright, alright, put the bottle down. That's just the beginning. Stu, get the real stuff out.' Stu picks up a box and holds it out to us. Inside lie a little bundle of joints and needles. 'Take on,' John says. I stare at those dangerous things. The fact that I _died _from smoking too much should stop me. But health doesn't work the same way way **Here**.

And I need a change, or I think I might go mad.

So I sigh deeply and reach for the box.

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Owww. My head _hurts_.

I sit up, clutching my throbbing head. John lies on the sofa, completely out. Stu is stretched out on the floor, dark hair plastered all over his face.

And littered all around us are the remains of what we did last night. Bottles, cinders left from joints. The last of the drugs infusing my body have drained away and now I feel like a piece of shit. So much for a change - it's certainly different from waking up every day in exactly the same way. Today's dawned with excruciating pain. Oh, well.

I stand up and fall right back down. Okay, need support to walk. I crawl towards the table and use it as leverage, making sure I hold onto it so that I sway but don't fall. Then I make my way home.

On the way somewhere, I pass the **Looking **place. For some reason, I'm drawn towards it. I wander over and let my senses fly.

They take me to the black-eyed girl who had been drawing the album cover of _Revolver_. She's walking down a road, wearing what appears to be a school uniform, and a backpack - a heavy looking one, but it doesn't seem to be bothering her. She passes a market and I feel a twinge of unease because there are mostly men, not too many women, in the market, and they seem to be ogling every passing woman with perverted stares. Normally I don't watch an unknown person for long - it's like invading their privacy - but she seems so innocently unaware, it would be so easy for one of them to sling a hand over her screams and drag her to a car parked in the dusty parking lot ...

Or _is _she unaware? She walks confidently, looking much older than she probably is - sixteen, seventeen? - but she glances around her, catching sight of the creepy eyes, and then looks ahead again. She shakes her long dark hair so that it hides most of her face, like a curtain, and continues walking. What has gotten into me? She must be used to this.

The dark-haired girl - I still don't know her name - enters a suburban neighbourhood and stops in front o/f a house whose fence looks like it's going to collapse under the weight of a vine spilling white and pink flowers. She pauses to tilt her face up to a drooping blossom and smell it, then she opens the gate, locks it behind herself, pulls out a pair of keys and unlocks the front door.

A bunch of boys greet her from the kitchen. Are they her friends? Or brothers? One, I figure, is her brother, but the other two aren't. And from the way one of the boys smiles and compliments the cookies she made - they do look good - he seems to like her a lot. Ah, teenage lovelife.

I watch as she goes into another room, where a little girl is sitting in a crib. She's _good _at handling children. After making the little girl - who's obviously her sister - take a nap, she goes into the bathroom and I stop **Looking **so that she can have her privacy. In that time, I watch her brother's band practicing in the basement. They are pretty good. When she comes out, she talks on the phone and draws in a sketchbook at the same time. Through the telephone conversation, I discover that her name is Jenna.

Jenna.

That's a beautiful name.

She's drawing a face - Paul, again. She's got a talent there, I can see. Then she draws John. Then Ringo. I hold my breath as she opens a picture on the computer - (it took me a while to figure out the new gadgets that have been invented and popularized after my death - it's hard when you can only watch other people using them) - and enlarges my face on the screen. I feel self-conscious. Even though it's only a drawing of me, not the real thing. She stares at it intently. Her eyes are so dark, so black - I couldn't ever have imagined the secrets they revealed when they came into the sunlight. Then I watch her slowly begin to draw my face. Hers is set in concentration. She's mostly tuned out to her friend who's still babbling into the phone. She draws my nose, then my lips, and has almost finished capturing my face when, suddenly, her sister from the next room jerks awake and beings to wail.

Jenna drops the pencil, accidentally making a line across my half-finished face and leaves the phone on her desk, rushing to see if her sister is okay. She balances the toddler on her knee, comforting her, and that's when that boy from before arrives in her room. I watch them talking for a couple of minutes. I wonder if she likes him as much as he so _obviously _likes her, though she seems unaware of it ... he's a good looking guy, _and _he plays the guitar - plays it fairly well too, I can grudgingly admit.

Jenna looks at the incomplete drawing in her sketchpad and sighs. Then she tears it off the spiral binding, rips it apart and throws it away.

After she does that, she sits down to do some homework. I let my attention wander around her room. She's covered her walls with paintings and drawings, some of them made on paper and stuck on with sticky tack, others painted straight onto the wall. There are pictures, too - pictures of her and her friends, large posters of several musicians that I recognize - Eric Clapton, Bob Marley, Pink Floyd, The Rolling Stones - but the most, I see, are of a band that I know well. The Beatles. She has one of the four of us, a black-and-white shot. There are pictures of me alone, too. One of them is stuck to the wall next to her bed.

And winding in and out of these pictures and drawings are words: words that must all be lyrics, because I recognize some of ours. By ours, I mean The Beatles. I'll never stop being a Beatle, even if we broke up almost half a century ago.

I recognize the lyrics of _All You Need Is Love _- those five words are proclaimed largely in the middle of one wall, in psychedelic hand-painted letters. I recognize the lyrics of _Across the Universe _painted in flowing letters, streaming out from a painted paper cup. The words from _Revolution_, _Happiness Is A Warm Gun, Something, Yesterday _- she's got them all.

Apart from the walls, she's got books covering every available surface. Art materials, papers. It's fairly neat and organised, despite so many things being there.

I look back to the picture of my own face on her wall. _Something in the way she moves attracts me like no other lover_, the words have been painted with an artistic hand. I **Look **closer at the black-and-white photo. It's me, sitting on a bed in a hotel room with my guitar on my lap. There's only one other photo on this part of the wall, next to her bed: of her and a bunch of other girls who must be her friends.

I **Look **even closer to the picture and see that there's a tiny heart painted next to my face.

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**Was the second part too long? :O I didn't feel like cutting down. Review and tell me what you think :) -Jen. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you so much for the reviews! I've finally figured out why the story wouldn't show up on the main page and fixed it, thanks to The Crazy Violist :D **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or Living In The Material World or George Harrison, or anything else you might recognize. **

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**Dreamer**

**Chapter Five: I'm Looking Through You**

'Don't open the door if someone rings the bell, don't light the stove in the kitchen, don't go outside the house, you don't even have to pick up the phone if you don't want to,' said Jenna's mother for the millionth time. 'Unless it's us, of course.'

'Mom, I will be _fine_,' said Jenna exasperatedly. 'I'm fifteen, I think you can trust me that much!'

Her mother shook her head anxiously. 'I'll call you in an hour, as soon as we reach. We probably won't be back before one,' she said. She hoisted Tadpole onto her hip; Tadpole grunted in discomfort and went back to sleep.

'Okay, bye,' said Jenna, fairly shoving her parents out of the door. 'Stop worrying so much. Have fun.' She rolled her eyes. Honestly, she was fifteen years old and they still got so worked up every time they had to leave her alone in the house. Okay, so it was true that their neighbours had gotten robbed by burglars, but that was over six months ago and they had taken many security precautions since then. For instance, the burglar alarm, and the gates of their neighbourhood being locked every night. She wasn't going to get _killed _anyway.

Jenna shut and locked the front doors, watched her parents' car pull out of the driveway and disappear down the road, and then turned around to survey the empty house. She _loved _being alone at home. Not that she minded her family, but sometimes it was nice to just be by yourself. She plugged her iPod into her brother's speaker system and started playing a playlist of all her favourite songs - which were mostly Beatles songs, but also contained other artists too. She felt like being artistic tonight, so she found a handful of paint bottles and a brush, and a place on her wall that wasn't already covered with a poster or a painting. She hauled up a ladder from the basement, set it up next to the wall and climbed on top of it, sitting with the paints on the rung below her, and began to pain. Today she felt like rainbows, so she began with violet and then blended it with dark blue. She curved the rainbow in smoke-like swirls and then made a bird flying out of it.

The door banged open there, and she jumped, nearly falling off the ladder. Who had opened the door? Hadn't she locked the house? Ohmygod BURGLARS. She gripped the glass of water she'd gotten to dip her brush in, and resolved to throw it at the head of -

John burst into the room boisterously, Jude and Tan following behind him. They all carried acoustic guitars. 'Ello there, what are you up to?' called John. 'Up, geddit,' he sniggered, looking pleased with himself, 'you know, since you're up a ladder and all that.'

'How did you get in?' demanded Jenna. 'You scared me.'

John waved a bunch of keys in her face in answer. 'Keys, genius. Listen to our new song.' The three boys arranged themselves on her bunk bed and across the floor, and began to play. Jenna stopped painting and turned around to listen to them. John played the bass lines on his acoustic, Tan played the rhythm guitar parts and Jude played the main guitar riff. Tan sang the lyrics that he'd written himself; he has a good voice, thought Jenna. It sounded so good - Jenna had always loved music, it was the one thing that could fit her soul completely, like nothing else. Her eyes trailed towards Jude's fingers, so easily sliding along the neck of the guitar and picking the strings - she'd always had a thing for guitarists - mostly guitarists from the sixties to the eighties who were either dead or ancient and whom she had no hope of meeting whatsoever - but she could settle for a real-life guitarist. Or settle for having a small crush on him, anyway, she didn't think she'd ever end up dating him.

When they were done playing, she exclaimed, 'That sounded so awesome! Are you going to record it soon?'

'We got a couple of gigs this week, we'll use the money to record,' said Tan, grinning. He got up and went over to the ladder. 'Whatcha painting?' Tan was like an older brother to Jenna - he and John had been friends so long, that she knew him pretty well. Since he was an artist too, they'd painted the walls of his room together plenty of times.

'Psychedelic stuff,' she answered, grinning. He snorted. 'Little hippie,' he said, chuckling.

'You're one to talk,' she retorted, pointing at his tie-dyed t-shirt. 'You're the one who made this shirt for me,' he said. 'We're watching a movie, do ya want to watch with us?'

'What movie?' asked Jenna.

'It's about the life of George Harrison. It's called Living in the Material World,' he told her. Jenna's heart skipped. A _whole movie _on George Harrison's life? He was her favourite Beatle. He'd written so many songs that she loved to bits. He was so _influential _in rock history - he was a bloody BEATLE! And he was pretty darn good looking too ... like, those eyes? And those cute vampire-y teeth? And that _hair_. For Jenna, hair was super important. Bad hair was the top on her list of Unattractive Things in the opposite sex. So was body odour, but she thought that George would smell amazing, like smoke and cologne.

'Umm ... so we're watching it in the other room,' Tan told her. Jenna blinked, realising that she'd lapsed into glaze-eyed silence for several moments. 'Uh, sorry,' Jenna cover up, 'I zoned out.'

'Hmm. Are you on something?' He peered closely at her and she hit his arm. 'No, ya dumbass,' she said indignantly, when she figured out that he was implying that she was high. She'd only done drugs once or twice - with her brother and his friends, of course. Her own friends might've indulged in alcohol and cigarettes from time to time, but they would've flipped if they knew she'd smoked pot: she was supposed to be the goody goody. Jenna didn't do drugs to be a badass, though. She just wanted to see what they felt like.

Jenna followed the three boys into her parents' room. Tan and John jumped up and down on the bed like Jenna and John used to when they were little, till there was an ominous groan from the bed that made the freeze and exchange guilty glances. Judea and Jenna sat on the futon. Jenna was too excited about watching the movie to care that Jude was sitting so close to her, his arm pressed against hers.

The movie began with George's face from between red poppies. _That's right, he devoted a lot of time to gardening towards the end of his life_, she remembered. Then it showed a baby George, held in someone's arms above a crystal bowl as he was baptized in a church. His small face was barely recognizable as the handsome face of the man that he would become: it was tiny, scrunched and pink and so wholly adorable that Jenna had to bite her tongue to stop a girly _Awww _from escaping her lips.

Then it showed childhood photographs of George. George as a toddler, a preteen, a teenager. How he joined the Beatles. Clips of their early performances as the Quarrymen.

Sometime in the middle, Jude put his arm around Jenna. She didn't even react, just kept her eyes glued to the screen, trying to understand all she could from the black-and-white photos and short videos that were all that was left of George Harrison.

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**Just thought I'd let you know, Tan's name is pronounced TAAN. Please review and tell me what you think :) -Jen. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you for the reviews :) **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

* * *

**Dreamer**

**Chapter Six: Living In The Material World and The Viking Princess**

It's early in the morning, just after dawn - the pale light in my room tells me the sun's barely even up - and I wonder why the _hell _I've woken up so early, since I normally sleep till noon. Well, if I don't have anything else to do. And today I don't. Besides, last night I was at the **Looking **place till quite late. I was fascinated by the movie that Jenna and the boys were watching. It seemed to be all about _me - _I recognized childhood photos of myself, video clips of the Quarrymen, and they had songs that I'd written playing in it, too. It was the story of my life - excluding, of course, lots of things that I don't think I'd ever told reporters or writers, and were therefore left out of the movie. For instance, it skimmed over all those important childhood memories of imaginary friends and real friends, and games like hide and seek and tag. And it skimmed over the numerous teenage crushes and the occasional girlfriends. They had most of the facts right though, and I couldn't help feeling a little bit smug that there was a _whole movie _about my life - the life of George Harrison. A full life, I've come to accept.

And of course it made me even happier to see how Jenna's dark eyes fixed so intently on the screen. She smiled at the clip of me as a baby - I looked so small and pink - and her lips mouthed the words of all the songs. I alternated between staring at the screen and watching her expressions. The other boy, Jude, who was sitting next to her, put his arm around her shoulders at some point, but she didn't react in the slightest - it looked like she'd barely noticed.

I smile lightly to myself at the memory and then become aware of a presence in my room. My eyes move to the shadow that falls next to my cupboard. Crouched there, I can make out the distinctive auburn hair even in the darkness. 'Get out, Farrah,' I say loudly.

The dark shape in the shadow doesn't budge.

'I can see you there,' I inform her. The shadow groans and moves into the light to reveal a young girl - twelvish, maybe - with auburn curls and eyes green as glacier ice. Farrah pouts. 'It was five whole minutes before you noticed me,' she says, with a trace of triumph in her voice.

'I was sleepy,' I tell her. 'Doesn't count. Now, get out unless you want to see me naked.'

Farrah's green eyes grow perfectly round. 'You're not wearing anything?'

'Not a stitch,' I lie smoothly. 'So get your butt outta my house till the sun is way on the other side.'

'But, you didn't play with me yesterday,' she says plaintively. 'Or the day before that. Where were you?'

'I was busy,' I say. I don't know why, but I haven't told anyone about my excursions to the **Looking **place. It just avoids a whole lot of explanation.

'Then you gotta play with me today!' Farrah says. 'Come on Geo, please?'

'Alright, fine,' I grumble. 'But you have to get me something to eat. Something super yummy. And lots of it.'

'I promise I'll give you something awesome to eat!' exclaims Farrah. 'Now get up.'

I raise my eyebrows at her and she blushes. 'I'll be waiting by the giant blue flowers, then.'

* * *

Today's a rainy day. Mostly, the rain **Here **is nice and pleasant and cool ... though we do get hit by the occasional storm. I head across the sprawling lawns that so resemble Friar Park. I was surprised, when I first came, that **Here **resembled my home so much, but I've worked a theory on why that is so. I think that when you die, you appear in some part of **Here **that best resembles your home, or the place you're most comfortable in. For me, that was Friar Park, because through the fame and limelight and girlfriends and wives, I could always escape into the vast lawns, tending to those tall trees and strumming my guitar to the whispering leaves. Not all those who come **Here **stay in the places they appear in - I myself wandered around for a couple of years, in a large city that resembles New York, and in a land filled with hippies of the sixties and seventies. That was amazing, that place - filled with tall flowers that towered over our heads, and rainbow-y skies and psychedelic smoke. My miniature Friar Park borders that area, in fact - and it's toward the giant blue flowers that I head to meet that auburn-haired girl waiting for me. Farrah's ancient. She was a Viking princess in medieval ages, but died in her when she was twelve. She's traveled through a lot of **Here**, but for now she's settled in a neat little cottage just minutes from my house. Farrah's appearance gives away none of her age or background - dressed in black pants, a leather jacket and black knee-high boots, the only remnants of her Viking blood are in her auburn curly hair, determined chin and green eyes. 'Here,' she says, thrusting a huge candied apple into my hands. I bite into it happily, I love candied apples. 'What do ya wanta do today?' I ask through a mouthful of cinnamon candy.

'I want to try to climb that tree again!' says Farrah. Dimly I remember a large, twisted oak that she had tried and failed to climb. To Farrah, such things are extremely important. She can't stand to accept failure. I don't really feel like climbing trees today, but ... That particular tree is close to the **Looking **place.

'Okay,' I say. 'Let's go.'

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**Ideas, suggestions, thoughts - tell me by clicking the review button and making someone (me) smile! :D -Jen. **


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you all for the reviews :) **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

* * *

**Dreamer**

**Chapter Seven: Cigarette Smoke and Something ... Or Someone Else**

Jenna climbed up the ladder. Her head was spinning with images of guitars and George Harrison. That movie was _amazing_. She'd been completely entranced throughout the whole film ... she finished the band of rainbow colours on the wall, making them swirl away from each other. The house was empty now, apart from her: Jude, John and Tan had gone to the roof of the house to hang out there, with Fela, the vocalist of the band. Jenna shut the door of her bedroom and put her iPod into her brother's docking station. She put on her favourite playlist again, and sat down with her sketchbook.

This time she didn't draw George; she took a black charcoal stick and drew a swirl on it. It was a tight spirally swirl, smoky and intense. She wound black lines around and around till the spiral filled the page. Before she could finish, the phone screamed for attention in the next room and she jumped up, hastily brushing her charcoal-stained fingers across her jean-shorts to get as few black fingerprints on the phone as possible. She was mostly unsuccessful, but grabbed the phone anyway and pressed it to her ear. 'Hello?'

'Hey, Jen,' it was Emmea, John's girlfriend. She and John had been friends for a while before he asked her out, and Jenna approved of Emmea: they were good friends, both being soft spoken and artistic. 'Can I talk to John? It's sort of urgent.'

'Sure,' Jenna said, already making her way up the marble stairs to the roof of the house. She opened it the door; cool wind brushed her long hair back, mingling with strands of cigarette smoke. 'John, phone,' she said to her brother, who was dangling his legs over the edge of the terrace. 'It's not Mom, is it?' he asked worriedly.

'No, it's Em,' she said, laughing. She started to back away into the house again, but John had already hung up the phone and bounded past her. 'Em got un-grounded so now she's coming to visit me!' he said ecstatically, fairly flying down the stairs to open the door for his girlfriend.

Jenna and Tan exchanged glances and laughed at John's enthusiasm; it _was _true that he hadn't been able to meet Emmea for the past two weeks, because her mother had grounded her. 'Hey Jen, come hang out with us for a while,' said Fela. Jenna shut the door behind her and sat on the cool gravelly floor of the terrace. Jude sat across from her, texting someone on his phone and smoking. Tan sat next to her, alternating between strumming his guitar and smoking. Fela sat next to Tan, humming with Tan's music and smoking.

Jenna loved watching cigarette smoke. It rose like spirits from a corpse, easing itself out of the grey, crumbling tip of the cigarette and rising, swirling and eddying - she felt like taking pictures of it, or painting it. 'What ya looking at?' said Tan self-consciously. Jenna grinned. 'Cigarette smoke is pretty,' she stated.

Tan raised his eyebrows. 'Is it now?'

'Yep.' He reached out and picked up a strand of her hair, letting it slip through his finger one hair at a time, so that it fanned out. A little smile curled his mouth. His hand brushed her face ever so lightly as he withdrew it; Jenna was startled to find ripples of shivers spreading over skin from his touch, and that her heart had quickened just a little.

* * *

Three o'clock, and Jenna still couldn't sleep.

'Insomnia, you bitch,' she muttered, reaching for her iPod. She pushed the headphones into her ears and closed her eyes: the soothing strains of Something washed over her. Beginning with the drums, the guitar and bass entering after, and then that voice; like lights shining behind that voice, when the words began; _something in the way she moves ... attracts me like no other lover ... something in the way she woos me ... _

But the part that Jenna loved most was the guitar solo. It was the kind of guitar solo that spoke so much more than words - that heart-wrenching emotion displayed through the sound - it was otherworldly, really.

Then the song ended, and left Jenna feeling like she'd been floating on a wave that had left her washed-up on the shore.

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**Slightly random I know, but review anyway! :D -Jen. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks for the reviews! :) **

**WARNING: This chapter is going to be cryptic. Well, George doesn't know Jenna, does he? He's never met her! So of course he's going to be a wee bit confused by the coming turn of events ... o_o But don't worry, because in the next 20 minutes, I will have the next chapter up. :D Which will explain everything. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

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**Dreamer**

**Chapter Eight: I Want To Tell You**

'Let's do this!' says Farrah excitedly. She jumps onto the lowest branch of the tree and hauls herself up. 'I'm gonna get all the way to the top, George!' she shouts joyfully, I groan, leaning against the trunk of the massive tree: it's over thirty feet wide, and I can't even see the top, because so many branches and leaves obscure it. 'It's gonna take forever, Farrah,' I complain. 'What did you drag me here for?'

'Can't hear you,' sings Farrah, climbing onto the second branch.

'I'm going for a walk,' I say loudly.

* * *

The **Looking **place is nearby. First, I watch Olivia and Dhani having lunch together. They both look fairly happy: even though everyone says Dhani and I look like we could be twins, I think there's some resemblance between Olive and Dhani. They converse lightly about their lives, and I listen for a little while before dropping out of the conversation and **Looking **at something else.

Jenna's not at home or in her school; it takes me a second to locate her. She's standing in a crowd watching a band perform in a bar: I recognize the band members. There's a girl singing who I don't recognize; the drummer is Jenna's brother, John; the bassist is John's friend, Tan; and the guitarist is Jude, the boy who had his arm around her while they watched the movie. They have an interesting sound: psychedelic, alternative rock, with some jazz and blues. Definitely talented. Jenna takes pictures of them while they play, and cheers after each song. The tinted stage lights highlight her face in blues and purples.

After the concert, when they reach home, John tells Jenna, 'That was Mom on the phone. She said that Laura called her. She said ... Rhianna passed away an hour ago.'

Rhianna? Who's Rhianna? But I'm not so concerned for the unknown Rhianna. I watch Jenna anxiously. She looks blank, not reacting. 'I ... but ...'

'Jen, it's okay,' John grasps his sister's shoulders. 'I know,' says Jenna. 'She was suffering a lot.' She sounds like a child assuring herself of something; practical, reasonable. 'Now at least she'll be happy.' Jenna allows her brother to hug her and then turns and walks quite calmly out of the kitchen, leaving Jude and John and Tan behind, all watching her go in silence.

She's not crying, though she must obviously be upset. She picks up her iPod from under her pillow, her dark hair swinging forward as she bends down, and then slips into the bathroom. Normally I always **Look** away whenever she goes into the bathroom, to give her privacy, or when she's changing her clothes - it would be wrong to **Look**. But this time, I don't think she's going to be using the bathroom. The minute the door shuts, Jenna sits on the floor and tears fall from her black eyes. Her breath comes unevenly, sobs catching in her chest, tears flowing down her cheeks, but still with that controlled face: the one that's trying to hide emotion, even though she's alone.

Then her mask fails and she cries for real, uncontrollably, and I wish with all my heart that I could hold her and comfort her. Pain and grief twist her face.

Jenna pushes the headphones of her iPod into her ears: I can't **Look **close enough to read the name of the song on the small screen of the iPod, but it seems to comfort her. She closes her eyes, face pushed into her knees, locking her arms around herself, and rocks slowly in time to the music that I can't hear.

I can't see her face anymore but her shoulders have stopped shaking, which maybe means that it's getting better - at least till her head jerks up, staring disbelievingly at the iPod, whose screen has gone blank: it isn't working. Frustrated, she flings the gadget away from herself, hiding her face once more.

John stands outside her bathroom door, pressing his ear to it. He hesitates, then says, 'Jenna? Come out, Jen, you don't have to hide there to cry.'

Jenna lifts her face up and cringes. Then she speaks in a freakishly normal voice. It's not right, how natural and nonchalant her voice sounds when she assures him, 'I'm fine. I'll be out in a sec.' Then she wraps her arms around her head again.

Why won't she let her brother and friends comfort her? She needs it. But she won't let them. So I will.

I take a deep breath. I've never done this before: it's not allowed. Strictly. But I do the only thing I can.

I sing.

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**Who's Rhianna? Why is she dead? And what one earth is George doing? 0_0 Next chapter will be up in 20 minutes, but I would be oh so very happy if you reviewed. :) -Jen. **


	9. Chapter 9

**Yay I managed to get up two chapters in one day! :D **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

* * *

**Dreamer**

**Chapter Nine: It's Alright**

Jenna knelt in front of the red-haired person in the wheelchair. Her eyes were glazed as she stared into the distance; as though she was drugged, or perhaps asleep with her eyes open. 'Rhianna,' said Jenna. She took the girl's pale delicate hand. 'Hey, Rhi. It's me, Jen. Remember me?' Briefly Rhianna's green eyes focused on Jenna and her mouth twitched into a shadow of a smile before sliding back into her normal stupor.

Kylie, Rhianna and Jenna had been best friends, united by their love for the Beatles - till last year. Rhianna had been in a car accident with her drunk boyfriend, Ren. Ren had died on the spot; Rhianna suffered spinal injuries, several fractures and torn tissues, and brain damage. Even after a year, Rhianna rarely spoke or responded - if so, then only faintly. Jenna visited her once in a while - she sometimes spoke to Rhianna about school and other things. Since the hospital to which Rhi was confined was two hours away from Jenna's home, it was hard to visit her often: today, John's band was performing in a bar-café close by, so John offered to take her up to the bar early so that she could visit her.

'She smiled,' said the nurse standing in the doorway. 'She smiled for you, did you see?'

Jenna nodded. 'She reacts most to you,' said the nurse fondly, 'You and her little sister.' Jessa, who was Rhianna in miniature, and had always adored and looked up to her older sister. Jenna didn't want to go, but John said, gently, from the doorway, 'Jen, we have to go now. We'll be late.' Jenna nodded and got up. 'Bye, Rhi.'

Jenna had turned by the time she heard the gasp. She whirled around; Rhi was trying to speak. 'J ... jen ... I ...' Her voice was raspy and hoarse from not being used, the words forced with effort.

'Yes?' Jenna's heart hammered; she knelt in front of Rhianna again, but the small effort had exhausted her: already her eyes had closed, all words gone. Jenna felt like crying, but she never cried in front of other people, so she just let the nurse pat her shoulder and say in an amazed voice, 'That's the most she's spoken for months!'

John patted Jenna's head as she passed him on the way out. As they walked along the immaculate, identical hospital corridors, Tan reassuringly brushed the small of her back with his hand. He didn't say anything, but it did make Jenna feel a little better.

* * *

It was after the gig, there were people crowded all around the small stage. Jenna pushed her camera into her bag; she was satisfied with the shots she'd gotten. In her head she was still singing their songs: that band had a future, she could tell. They were already so popular, even though they were so young. She hugged her brother, saying, 'You were so good! You guys sounded awesome.' She hugged Fela too. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jude kissing another girl on her cheek. The girl looped her arms around his neck; for just a second, Jude's eyes met hers, and then someone came between them. But, somehow, Jude and the other girl didn't bother Jenna. It just made her feel oddly relieved.

Then Tan was standing next to her. 'You guys sounded so good!' Jenna exclaimed, and hugged him: his arms wrapped around hers, and even though it was a friendly hug she loved the warmth and the scent of his shirt. His arms squeezed her gently: there are some people who, when they hug you, make you feel like they really care - it doesn't matter who they hug, it's just the way they do. Tan was one of them, Jenna though.

* * *

When they reached home, Jude and Tan and John unloaded their instruments and left them sitting in the drawing room while the four of them raided the kitchen. It was one thirty, and they were all starving; as per tradition, Jude and Tan would spend the night and John's after every gig.

John was talking on his phone in a low voice while Jude dunked two-minute noodles into a pan of water and Tan poured four beer mugs full of Coke for them. Jenna reached for the plates in the cupboard, then glanced at John. He sounded troubled. When he hung up, he looked at Jenna strangely.'What's wrong?' she asked, concerned.

'That was Mom,' said John slowly. 'She said that Laura called her on the phone.' Laura? Laura was Rhianna's mother. Why was she calling Mom? 'She said ... Rhianna passed away an hour ago.'

Rhianna passed away an hour ago.

Rhianna passed away an hour ago.

Rhianna passed away an hour ago.

Jenna turned this piece of information over in her head several times. It wouldn't sink in. Jenna frowned. 'I ... but ...' She'd just seen Rhianna less than four hours ago. What had happened? 'Jen, it's okay,' John grasped her shoulders.

'I know,' said Jenna. 'She was suffering a lot.' Her voice sounding strangely flat. 'Now at least she'll be happy.' Jenna stood transixed, emotionless, as though hearing her own voice from through a tunnel. She let John pull her into a hug, and then stepped out of his arms. She walked out of the kitchen, completely normal, leaving it in silence.

Once in her room, Jenna found her iPod, still moving as though in a daze. She locked herself in the bathroom, turning on the fan and exhaust so that it wouldn't be completely silent, and sat on the cold tiled floor. Before she could push the headphones into her ears, the tears were falling.

In the words of Paul McCartney: Live and Let Die. Jenna didn't believe in mourning the dead for too long: death had to happen: it was a part of life. No avoiding it. But Rhianna's death wasn't meant to be so early. It was ... she racked her brains for the word ... a tragedy. So she let her guard fall, and she let herself cry, hugging her knees to her chest. It took a moment before she remembered her consolation: her iPod. She scrolled through the songs till she found that one: the only song that could lift her from a bad mood and make her happy in the span of a minute: _Here Comes The Sun. _Then she closed her eyes and listened to George's voice telling her that it was alright.

It was almost like he was there. It lifted her into a world where everything was beautiful and psychedelic and they were together, happy. Just his voice could transport her so far away. She wasn't sitting on the cold tile floor anymore. She wasn't hiding in the bathroom so nobody would see her tears. She was far away in that beautiful place.

Then, without warning, the music stopped. And just like that, Jenna was sitting on the cold floor of the bathroom again, tears wet on her face.

The iPod wouldn't go on. Her consolation: the iPod. Jenna ripped the headphones out of her ears and flung it away from herself. She closed her eyes and buried her face in her knees. From far away, she heard someone knocking on the door. 'Jenna?' It was John. 'Come out, Jen, you don't have to hide there to cry.'

'I'm fine,' answered Jenna, her voice perfectly normal. 'I'll be out in a sec.'

Jenna buried her face in her knees; even with her eyes open, it was all dark. In her head, she imagined floating into that world again. She imagined the beginning of _Here Comes The Sun_ playing in her head. She imagined George singing to her, sitting by her side, giving her his comfort ...

Or was it only her imagination? For suddenly, George's voice rang in her ears. _Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter_. Even she, who memorised every note and lyric of her favourite songs, could not have remembered George's voice in her head with such clarity. _Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here_. She was sitting all alone on the floor; nobody was with her. Could it all be in her head? She focused on her toes, counting them: this would tell her if she was imagining the voice of if it was real, because if she was busy counting her toes, surely she wouldn't hear -

_Here comes the sun, do do do do, here comes the sun, and I say, it's alright_.

She was dreaming - she had to be -

_Sun, sun, sun, here it comes _

Could it be real?

_Sun, sun, sun, here it comes _

It was -

_Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting _

_Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear _

Jenna wasn't breathing anymore: he was singing for her

_Here comes the sun, do do do do, here comes the sun, and I say _

_It's alright. _


	10. Chapter 10

**Sorry I uploaded the wrong chapter! (Thank you Aileen). Well here is chapter 10 of Dreamer, NOT Nowhere Girl :P **

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**Thank you for the reviews! :D I'm glad you guys enjoy this story. **

**Recently, I got an anonymous review from someone saying that stories about real people are not allowed on this site and that I should move this to another site. Since it was anonymous, I could not reply privately, so I would just like you to know that I mentioned very clearly that I do NOT own the Beatles, and that this story is purely FICTIONAL. Note the Disclaimer in every chapter, as well as the one below. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

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**Dreamer**

**Chapter Ten: Help Me Get My Feet Back On The Ground**

George's POV

I sing with every fibre of my being.

The shock on her face isn't unexpected, of course. Then comes the disbelief: and then the wonder. Jenna leans back on the tiles of the bathroom wall, eyebrows scrunched together as she listens, attentive, to me singing for her, singing that it's alright. The tears stop; she reaches up one hand to wipe the leftover ones away. Slowly, the grief and pain lifts from her face. She's not ... happy, but contented. Warm satisfaction spreads through me; a light feeling.

When I finish singing, she sits for a moment longer, scrunched up on the bathroom floor, hugging her knees, then stands up and washes her tear-streaked face, drying it on a towel. She looks at her solemn-faced reflection, straightens her hair, and offers herself a watery smile. Then she turns away from the mirror and glances to her toes. She glances around the bathroom, unsure; nervous.

Then, softly, so softly I wouldn't have caught it I didn't see her lips move:

Jenna whispers, 'Thank you.'

* * *

Jenna's POV

Jenna slept like the dead for exactly three hours before the Gods of Sleep decided they'd been too kind to her.

Her head was so full of thoughts that she thought it might burst: thoughts of Rhianna, stabs of sadness mingled with relief: for a year her friend had battled for life, survived on meds and 24-hour hospital supervision, and not been in her senses for more than a few seconds every few months. What hell, Jenna imagined, that life had to have been; maybe it was good that Rhianna had moved on. Therefore, thought Jenna practically, there was no point in dwelling on her death. But she was allowed to _miss _her friend, wasn't she?

Then there was the voice. The Voice, she'd decided to call it: what had sounded and felt _exactly _like the voice of George Harrison, Jenna couldn't believe really _was _him. And yet she couldn't be more sure that she hadn't imagined it: a dreamer she might have been, but that voice had been one hundred per cent real. Where it came from, she didn't know; by some uncanny coincidence, a trick of reflected sounds and echoes perhaps - one of those scientific explanations that always seemed to make beautiful things less wondrous - but Jenna couldn't possibly know what, for if she'd known what, questions wouldn't have been swirling all around her head like annoying flies, would they?

She refused to believe that it could've been _him_; he was dead, surely, body wasted away beneath a cold grave. And Jenna was a strict atheist and existentialist:if there was an afterlife, she thought, it had to be in a separate universe from theirs, surely, and no connections. She couldn't be sure, though ... but she _couldn't _let herself hope for such stupid things. It was every Beatlemaniac's dream to be visited by the spirits of John and George but she, Jenna, did not believe in that. So what was that voice? ... damn. Back to dwelling on _that _question again.

She needed someplace to think.

Jenna tiptoed out of her parents' room, where she'd been sleeping on a makeshift futon bed, and past three sleeping boys stretched out on mattresses in her own room, and up the stairwell to the terrace. She left her dysfunctional iPod behind: music wouldn't help to clear head right now. She slowly unlocked the terrace door and slid the latch aside, and climbed up onto the terrace. From there, she climbed up the ladder that led to the water tanks, and hauled herself from the smaller tank to the top of the big one, where she sat cross-legged: the highest vantage point she could reach. The cool night wind brushed her, offering its soothing touch as comfort.

Jenna exhaled, and the wind stole her breath immediately, whisking it away as soon as it left her lips. Whenever her head felt too full, she sang songs that fitted her mood. Jenna liked singing. It helped her feel ... unloaded. So she sang: _When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be ... And in my hour of darkness, she is standing right in front of me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be ... Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be; Whisper words of wisdom, let it be. _

Jenna stopped singing then; she could count three stars in the sky. It wasn't a cloudy night. Just polluted. Three stars was the average night sky around her home.

'Why did you stop singing?'

Jenna whirled around: Tan stood at the top of the ladder. She tugged a strand of her hair with one hand: playing with it kept her fingers busy, and she liked keeping her fingers busy. 'I was counting the stars,' she told him truthfully. 'That sounds romantic when they write it in books, but there were only three.'

Tan looked up at the sky, squinting. 'Wrong,' he said. 'You missed out two of them over there.' He pointed.

Jenna slid down from the water tank. 'Did I now?' she said speculatively.

He nodded. 'What're ya doing up here?'

'I couldn't sleep.' She looked out to the dark space next to the house. She, Rhianna and Kylie used to come up here when they had sleepovers, and watch the sun rise. Which wasn't quite so spectacular in the city as it might've been in the mountains or on the beach, but it was enlightening nonetheless.

'Hey,' said Tan. 'You doing okay?' He put his arm around her, rubbing her shoulder gently.

'Yeah,' she answered quietly. 'She's probably happier wherever she is now than she was here, you know?'

Tan put his other arm around her too, and she returned his hug, melting into the warmth of his shirt, letting him stroke her back gently, accepting his attempts to comfort her. After several long moments, he turned, not lifting his arm from around her, and said, 'Come on, it's cold out here. Let's go in.'

They went back into the house, locking the terrace door, and padding down the cold marble stairs to the bedrooms. In the bedroom where the boys were sleeping, Jenna surveyed Jude and John's sprawled-out forms, locked in deathlike sleep and then turned to Tan. 'Thanks,' she told him, giving him a thank-you hug. He gave her a lopsided smile as she withdrew her electrified. 'It's alright, kiddo.' Then he kissed her cheek, sending sparkles through her skin and shivers sliding along her nerves, and went into the room.

* * *

School felt like an alien planet on Monday morning when Jenna walked in. Her friends clearly hadn't heard about Rhianna - except for Kylie, and she was nowhere in sight. She walked into the first empty classroom she could find and slumped into one of the chairs. She wanted to be anywhere but in school. Honestly, sometimes she hated it: she just couldn't wait till college. College would mean freedom.

Jenna reached into her bag and pulled out a scrap of notebook paper and a black Sharpie pen. Then she remembered the sound of George's voice in her head and drew his face: but she drew it eyes first.

And this time, somehow, through her distraction-fogged brain, without even really concentrating, there they came out: just right. They were perfect: they were his eyes. Jenna reached into her bag again and found a charcoal stick to shade them, and when she was done they looked so realistic that she smiled, first small, and then bigger and bigger. _'Here comes the sun, do do do do, here comes the sun, and I say, it's alright_,' she sang. Then she stuffed her things into her bag, slipping George's eyes very carefully into a larger book so that they wouldn't get crumpled, and headed out of the door.

She had enough to get through the day.

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**I've been staying up till 3 everyday to get these chapters up, honestly, FanFiction can be as addictive as Facebook! :P Review, as always :) -Jen. **


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you so much for the reviews :) For the record, Tan's name is pronounced TAAAN. And the 'T' is like the 'th' in 'sloth'. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

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**Dreamer**

**Chapter Eleven: Hello Goodbye**

Months had passed since Rhianna's death; Jenna no longer felt a stab of sadness every time she pictured the red-haired girl. But she hadn't forgotten the sound of George's voice ... and hadn't ever heard it since. She sometimes lay awake at night listening to _Something_, and then stopping the song midway, hoping she'd hear the voice again, but it never came. Or sometimes she listened to _Here Comes The Sun_, and then waited for his voice - the _real _one, not the recorded one - to finish the song for her. But it never came; it might never have been there. Still, Jenna couldn't have been more sure of what she had heard.

Jenna felt guilty about the flutters that assaulted her stomach whenever Tan was nearby. Guilty because of The Voice, for some reason. Which was so completely irrational, but still - it was hardly healthy for a girl's thoughts to be filled with that of a _dead _boy. Man, actually. Fifty-years-older-than-her man.

Meanwhile, John had passed out of school. He was looking for a college close to home: Tan, on the other hand, was going abroad. He'd gotten acceptance letters from several large universities, and had already picked one. Jenna, now in the tenth grade, didn't know how to feel about this. He'd never kissed her cheek again after that one instance - and it was clear that he'd only done it to make her feel better, to comfort her because she was sad. They still talked as they'd always done; maybe a little more, but that was it. Jenna wasn't sure that she wanted more, anyway: for one thing, she did not think her brother would like it, and Tan _was _his best friend - she wouldn't be too happy if Kylie started dating John, would she? And he was older than her ... And now he was going away, so that put a stop to her troubles.

Jenna almost never told people when things were troubling her. It was something that she absolutely hated about herself, but she couldn't help it. Sometimes the thoughts in her head became too much and she had to spill to someone: so she'd taken to talking to The Voice - that is, the almost certainly nonexistent extinguished spirit of the ex-guitarist of the Beatles - George Harrison.

This was in the hope that it would someday come to her again. She was answered with silences, but she didn't mind. If she'd been certain that he _was _listening, she wouldn't have uttered a word.

Besides. There was no _way_ he was listening.

* * *

'Something smells awesome,' announced John as he walked in, guitar case swinging from one hand and amplifier in the other. With a groan he set them down by the door, blocking the entrance for Tan, who swung his guitar case forward so that it bumped against John in annoyance. He jumped agilely over the guitar case barring his way -_ while _carrying his own heavy one, Jenna noted - landed neatly on the other side and set it down. 'Whatcha baking?' he said, bounding to the oven and peering through the glass door.

'Cupcakes,' said Jenna. 'There's a fundraiser for the storm victims tomorrow; bake sale and stalls and stuff.'

'Oh,' said Tan, nodding. 'I still get one, right?'

Jenna laughed. 'Course.' The oven bell _ding_ed and she opened it with an oven mitt to take the tray out. She slid a knife under one of them to expertly scoop it out and hand it to John, while Tan tried to do the same on the other side of the tray. 'Ow!' he yelped, drawing back his hand and sucking it. 'It's fucking hot!'

'Well, obviously it's hot,' said Jenna. 'Run that under cold water.' While Tan ran to the sink and plunged his burned finger under the tap, Jenna got an ice cube out of the freezer tray, held it with a napkin and took it to him. Instead of taking it from her, Tan held out his burned finger to her. Jenna took his wrist and gently pressed the ice to the hurt area, which was red and swollen, though not badly burned enough to break the skin. He made a small noise of pain and then quietened. Jenna glanced at his face, and, finding his brown eyes trained on her, quickly broke the contact and looked down again, pretending to be absorbed in what she was doing. 'Just hold that there till it gets less swollen,' she said, her voice hiding the unnatural acceleration of her heartbeat - could he feel it against his skin? - and releasing his hands. 'Thank you,' he said, taking the ice. Then he flashed a grin. 'How about that cupcake? I better let the expert take it out, though.' Jenna laughed and took one out for him. With his uninjured hand, he accepted it and ate it. She blushed and tried not to feel _too _pleased about the praises he rained down on it.

* * *

Shortly afterward, Jenna went up to the terrace again to think. She'd done that a lot right after Rhianna died, but hadn't now for months. She picked up her Sharpie pen and drew eyes on the gravelly floor: _tried _to draw George's eyes - but they'd never come out right since the day after Rhianna's death, the night after The Voice, the one time she'd done them justice. That notebook scrap was carefully preserved within the pages of an old, thick book which Jenna never read but kept only because of its wonderfully decrepit and ancient appearance - and its use for keeping the corners of important papers from getting doggy-eared.

Jenna was incredibly anal about keeping her hair clean, but for once she didn't care about getting it dirty, and lay back on the gravelly terrace, watching the colourless sky. It was the furthest thing from storybook-blue as a sky could possibly get: rather blanked and opaque, but not cloudy ... _dusty_. Only once the sun began to set did it turn dusky and beautiful. Jenna liked it then. A few stars winked into existence. Jenna counted eighteen: the sky was positively starry tonight.

The door opened. Jenna thought she might know who it was, but she didn't bother to sit up. Instead, she let him walk around and look down at her. Tan's face looked like he was looking down at her from the top of a skyscraper, silhouetted against the deep blue sky. 'Aren't ya going to say goodbye to me?' he asked, scrunching his face. 'Or did you forget?'

Forget? Inwardly Jenna laughed with derision. Of course she couldn't forget that today was the day he was going away to college. In the twenty-first century, saying 'going away' did not have quite the same charm as it might've forty years ago. Facebook, Skype, Gmail and instant flight bookings made it about a fraction of the huge deal it might've been then. Still, Jenna wouldn't ever have forgotten. She decided to mess with him. 'Say goodbye?' she said, pretending to be confused. 'Goodbye for what? Where are you going?'

Tan's eyes became round. 'Don't you know my flight is leaving in three hours?'

'Flight for where?' inquired Jenna innocently. Then she laughed at his expression. 'Jeez. Of course I didn't forget, you idiot.'

'Hey, I'm leaving, don't call me an idiot!'

'Alright, Mr. Brainiac with Superb Intelligence and Knowledge.'

'That's better,' he nodded approvingly.

They burst into splits of laughter. 'I'll miss you all,' said Tan, sobering. Jenna frowned inwardly: if only he hadn't said 'you _all_'. 'We'll miss you too.' He hugged her, and she hugged him back, face buried in the clean-smelling fabric of his shirt. Then he leaned back, and Jenna held her breath as he leaned closer, eyes locked with hers, and pressed his lips to hers. Jenna's eyes slid closed and her hands reached up to the base of his neck, and he withdrew for a second before leaning in again. His tongue traced the length of lips, his hands gently cradling the sides of her face, and she let him in. His hands slid to her waist, his thumbs tracing the hem of her shirt and her hips, sending shivers through her. Jenna ran her fingers through his soft long hair.

It was beautiful and it was amazing and it was like flying and it was like being high; and it lasted all of twenty seconds, but, even as the yellow cab disappeared up the road and turned the corner on its way to the airport, the tingling sensation of his lips lingered on hers, promising to never be forgotten.

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**What does George think of THAT? :D -Jen. **


	12. Chapter 12

**Thank you so much for the reviews :) **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

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**Dreamer**

**Chapter Twelve: Jealous Guy**

****George's POV

Over the past few months, I've been trying not to visit the **Looking **place too often. Since I sang _Here Comes The Sun _for Jenna. There are practically no rules **Here**, but that one is standard - no communication with the living, period.

But her small response: _'Thank you'_: had my brain rooted on it since. The fact that she might actually _know _it was me, watching her and comforting her, is ... fascinating. Sometimes when she's alone, she _talks _to me. Small things like, 'It rained today, George.' Or, 'Today, my class teacher made a Beatles reference in her History lecture! Can you believe it? A _Beatles _reference - it's weird trying to imagine my class teacher going home and listening to rock music.' Sometimes deeper things, like if her brother ever snaps at her - which, though it upsets her, she doesn't express to anyone but me. It fills me with a kind of secret delight. Sometimes she asks me how my day was. But I never answer. Sometimes she says, 'Was that you singing on the day Rhi died? I want to know. I _know _I wasn't imagining it.' It takes all my will not to answer, but I know that I can't, shouldn't. It's not healthy for _her_. Besides, she's perfectly clear about her views: stubbornly atheist and existentialist.

Today it's rainy and windy as I make my way to the **Looking **place. I find Jenna sitting on the top of her roof: it was fairly ordinary for me to find her up there earlier, but lately she hasn't been sitting up there too often ... Jenna spins one strand of her dark hair around her finger, it's grown longer in the past few months. Then somebody opens the door to the terrace: Tan. She looks up at him. 'Aren't ya going to say goodbye to me? Or did you forget?'

'Say goodbye?' Jenna looks confused. 'Goodbye for what? Where are you going?'

Tan looks at her incredulously. 'Don't you know my flight is leaving in three hours?'

'Flight for where?' asks Jenna, frowning. Then she laughs. 'Jeez. Of course I didn't forget, you idiot.'

Tan looks extremely relieved. 'Hey, I'm leaving, don't call me an idiot!'

'Alright, Mr. Brainiac with Superb Intelligence and Knowledge,' Jenna answers smartly.

'That's better,' says Tan, satisfied. They both burst into laughter, and I feel a vague jealousy watching them laugh so freely. Then Tan says, 'I'll miss you all.'

'We'll miss you too.'

... I'm relieved that she said 'we' and not 'I'.

They hug, a little too long, his arms wrapped around her back, stroking her hair, her face buried in his chest. Then he moves back enough that they can face each other, leans in and kisses her.

An empty buzz fills me as I watch them embrace, kiss deeper, his hands tracing her waist, her fingers fluttering to his hair. This reminds me of when I caught my ex-wife Pattie kissing Eric Clapton at a party - of course, I had that one coming. But this ... It's ridiculous that I should even think this way, because she's a teenager in 2012 who has no knowledge that I'm even here watching her. There's also the fact that, technically, I'm almost half a decade older than her, but **Here **does weird things to your age, mentally _and _physically.

Then he withdraws his lips and rests his forehead on hers, and whispers, 'Bye, Jen.' As he disappears back into the house and a second later emerges from the front door, heading out of the gate, Jenna watches him from the terrace and waves goodbye.

I feel like wrenching myself away from this place and spending the restless energy boiling inside me: it's the kind of energy that makes you want to run and run till you hit solid walls, rebound off them, and run again. Images of Jenna and Tan kissing drift through my mind again, and I don't even watch what she's doing for the next few minutes till I realise she's listening to _Something_.

Jenna sits on the floor in her room, leaning against the foot of her bed, and listens to the song. Her lips mouth every word, and she closes her eyes. There's a sort of knot inside me, twisting and scrunching as I watch the music wash over her face and closed eyes, lips forming the words of the song, her lips that Tan just kissed. He's a fool for not doing it earlier, when he still had time to kiss her a hundred times more. No, he had to do it when it was too late for it to lead to anything. If I was in his position, I would've been so much smarter ... I could've made her happier for so much longer ... I remember writing this song. It was the first song of mine to become a single. I wrote it for Pattie, back when we were in love and everything was cool.

I need to unwind the knot inside me, so I let go of myself and sing. _Something in the way she moves, attracts me like no other lover ... something in the way she woos me ... I don't want to leave her now, you know I believe and how _... I watch the wonder in her eyes as she opens them, and the light pierces them - for the second time ever, I see the real true beauty of brown and gold and hazel in her eyes, hidden by that veil of black. _Kaleidoscope eyes. _She listens to me silently, as I sing over the track and the recorded voice of George singing with me.

When the song finishes, she lets out a pent-up breath as I breathe in deeply, breathless from singing. A moment passes and then she whispers, sounding half-afraid, 'Are you there, George? Is that really you?'

My heart speeds up. 'Yes,' I answer simply.

'Why ... why are you doing this?'

Strange question. I haven't asked myself that yet, so I tell her the truth. 'I don't know.'

'Do you do it often?'

To that, I respond with silence. I cannot allow myself to do this. Reluctantly, I get up and leave the **Looking **place, trying to ignore the look of disappointment on Jenna's face as her eyes turn black once more.

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**Jealous Guy was a John Lennon song, I know. Just seemed to fit. Please review :) -Jen. **


	13. Chapter 13

**Thank you so much for the reviews! :) I'm glad you guys enjoy this story. I guess you guys have heard about the stories being taken down from the website. It's probably only a matter of time before this one goes too. Nowhere Girl has already been removed. Well, there's a new forum on which I'm going to be posting stories - it's www. beatlefanworld .proboards .com (without the spaces). **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

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**Dreamer**

**Chapter Thirteen: Got To Get You Into My Life**

For the second time ever, George had spoken.

Spoken to _her_, Jenna.

_And _she'd gotten her first kiss ... from a boy who wasn't going to be in the country for the next eight months. That didn't make it any less amazing, though. Jenna could still feel the sensation of his lips against hers; she shivered at the memory, feeling torn - damn her taste in guys, of _course_ she had to fall for the boy who was going away and the boy who was dead and whose ghost was talking to her. Great, really. This helped things a bunch. It had been a week since Tan's kiss and George talking to her - she wondered what George had thought of the kiss - and that was all she could think about.

But Jenna could stifle the excitement - George Harrison, ex-guitarist of the Beatles, _the _love of her life, was _talking _to her, maybe even watching her, maybe even right now. She got up self-consciously from where she'd been sitting on her bed, reading a book - or at least trying to read, unsuccessful at evading her thoughts - and went towards the bathroom: it was time she got ready to go to school. She picked up her towel and then hesitated, one hand on the bathroom doorknob. 'Please don't look while I'm in there,' she said, feeling stupid. She wondered if George was even watching.

A low, throaty chuckle filled her ears. 'Don't worry, I won't.'

Jenna's face split into a smile; how could she _not _smile when George was talking to her? 'Pinky promise?'

'Pinky promise.'

Jenna went into the bathroom and stripped down, hoping with all her heart that he wasn't watching right now. She showered, washed her hair, and brushed her teeth, then wrapped a towel around herself and opened the door. 'No looking,' she whispered self-consciously, glancing around her room.

'No looking,' agreed George's voice. Jenna put on her school uniform and blow-dried her hair, letting it hang over her shoulders - she could tie it later, when she got to school - and, against school rules, wore her favourite ring which had all four of the Beatles' faces carved minutely on it. 'I like your ring,' said George. Jenna grinned.

* * *

It was raining heavily when Jenna stepped out of the house. She cursed - she loved the rain, but she didn't want it to make her shirt transparent. She ran towards the bus stop as fast as she could, ducking under the shade of a tree. Which wasn't really helpful, because the rain dripped through the branches and on top of her, but at least it was a _little _less than if she stood directly under it. She liked the feeling of rain on her face, anyway. 'Hey, Jenna!' Jenna cringed inwardly as Mandy joined her. 'Hey, Mandy.'

'Guess what!' exclaimed Mandy. 'What?' asked Jenna warily. 'I went on a date with Jesse Dunlace this weekend,' gushed Mandy, and proceeded to describe to Jenna how she _almost _got kissed by him, but was interrupted at the last minute, and how she was sure she'd be getting her first kiss soon. 'I should get my first kiss by the end of this month, before I turn sixteen, at least,' continued Mandy. 'I can't wait to see what it'll be like! I heard Scorpios are good kissers, and I'm one, so, good for me!' Jenna suppressed a smirk; _she'd _already _had _her first kiss. She was lost in thoughts about Tan and George again when the bus came and she climbed onto it, gazing out of the rain-spattered window.

As she walked through the school doors, the disciplinary head teacher stalled her. 'Show me your hands,' she commanded. Jenna cursed her stupidity inwardly and held out her hands: the silver Beatles ring glinted in plain sight. 'Hand that over, now.'

'I'll keep it in my bag, I promise,' said Jenna desperately, 'I'll never wear it to school again, I swear. Please don't take it away.'

'Rules are rules, now -'

'Mrs. Morison!' Jenna's savior arrived in the form of Jude. 'I'm afraid I need to borrow Jenna for the photography society meeting right away, it's rather urgent.' He had grabbed her by the shoulder and swept her away before Mrs. Morison could waylay them. 'Thanks a ton,' Jenna told Jude, grinning. She'd long since gotten over her crush on him; now they were just friends. 'I owe you one!'

'You can repay me by giving me one of those a-_mazing _muffins,' said Jude happily. 'I've got to get to class now, okay?'

'I'll get you one tomorrow!' promised Jenna. She tucked her Beatles ring into her pocket, breathing a sigh of relief.

* * *

It wasn't raining anymore, but the weather was still cool and windy. Jenna carried her portfolio with both arms, keen to not let if fall, as she and Kylie walked back to Kylie's place from the bus stop. Kylie glanced at Jenna, then took a cigarette out of her pocket and lit it. Jenna stared at the cigarette. 'Kylie, what the fuck? Since when do you smoke?'

'I smoked a cigarette for the first time this weekend.'

Jenna shook her head. 'What, Ky? What about your vow to never, ever smoke after your mom's addiction?'

'I just had to try!' wailed Kylie. 'It smelled so g-good! I just nicked one from my brother's pack. Oh, Jen, I loved it!'

Jenna, who'd smoked before and was unimpressed by the experience, shook her head. 'Nicotine addiction is in your blood, Ky. Tell me you won't do it again.'

Kylie's eyes widened. 'I - I can't.'

'You know how many people I know who've died from lung cancer? In fact, there are so many people we _both _know who've died from smoking too much, you know that. Let's see -' Jenna started counting off her fingers, 'My uncle, your sister's best friend, Rhi's father, and -' Jenna's voice faltered a little, 'George Harrison.' She regained her composure quickly. 'What I mean is, people aren't as ignorant now as they were then. They didn't know the consequences. But you do. You're sixteen years old, and you're _not _going to be a chain smoker right now. So drop the cigarette, _now_.'

Jenna was rarely bossy, but she didn't want her friend to become a smoker. And Kylie recognized that she was serious, so she reluctantly let the cigarette slip to the ground. Jenna stamped it out, then held out her hand. Kylie looked at her questioningly. 'Give me the rest of the packet,' ordered Jenna. Kylie made a face. 'Look, Ky, smoking took away my favourite guitarist in the world!' Kylie hesitated, then handed over the packet. Jenna threw it away.

'Thanks, Jen,' said Kylie quietly, as they walked away. 'I guess I needed someone to shove reality in my face and tell me I was being an ass.'

Jenna laughed. 'Doesn't everyone?'

As they walked, Jenna heard something other than Kylie's laughter. 'I wish I had someone like you to tell me that when I was young.' Jenna stilled, glancing around: George's voice was as clear as though he'd been standing right next to her. Kylie didn't seem to have heard anything. She couldn't answer right there, and even if she could have, she wouldn't have known what to say. She bit her lip and kept walking.

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**I'm not sure what I wanted to do in this chapter :P It's just a bit of a filler I guess. Review anyway, as always :) -Jen. **


	14. Chapter 14

**Thank you so much for the reviews! :) **

**Also. HAPPY BIRTHDAY RINGO. I LOVE YOU. I know other people sometimes criticize your drumming, but I absolutely love it and I think you're awesome and I love your nose too. It's cute. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

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**Dreamer**

**Chapter Fourteen: Looking**

It's absolutely endearing, the way Jenna says, 'Please don't look while I'm in there,' before she goes into the bathroom. The first time she says it, I can't stop myself from chuckling aloud, but nevertheless I look away to give her privacy. While she's in school, I wander away a little while, watching Dhani and my grandchildren for a little while, then Olivia and my brothers. I watch Ringo celebrating his seventy-second birthday - he looks so different now than he used to before, with an almost-bald hairstyle, and large tinted sunglasses that hide his droopy blue eyes. His rather large nose is the same, though, even though his face is slightly aged. As was mine beginning to look when I died, but **Here **I can look as young as four, if I choose to. My memories as a four-year-old are not what I instantly associate with my 'old life' - which is probably why I _don't _appear like a four-year-old.

I check up a couple of my old friends, just to see how they're doing - I'm dismayed to find that Victor Spinetti passed away. He starred in several of our movies, I remember. There's a tribute concert for Brian Jones, founder of the Rolling Stones - we met him years ago in London, when the Rolling Stones and us Beatles had a sort of mutual admiration thing going and were all extremely impressed to meet each other. I **Look **around Friar Park, pleased to see the trees that I planted so many years ago have grown so beautifully.

'Well, well, Georgie, what are we up to?'

I get the fright of my life as John's snide voice assaults my ears. Whirling around, I find him and Stu peering interestedly over my shoulder. My heart revived itself from its temporary standstill. 'You scared the fuck outta me,' I gasped, shoving them both back: they were standing claustrophobically close. 'Don't fucking _do _that.'

'Someone's jittery,' commented Stu. 'Come on, we're going to hang out near the city. Go to a few pubs. Night out, ya know?'

'Sounds great,' I say fervently, still unnerved. 'I'm just going to catch up with you guys in a bit, okay?'

'Ya sure, Georgie? What's so important?' asks John.

'See ya there,' I tell them. They exchange glances, shrug and leave.

Jenna's finished school by now: she and her hyper friend Kylie are walking home. It's nothing interesting and I'm about to leave when Kylie takes out a cigarette. There follows a lecture from Jenna, telling Kylie how awful it is to get addicted to smoking - from what I can collect, nicotine addiction runs in Kylie's blood. Just like it did in mine. Kylie protests, but in the end, she understands and drops the cigarette ... how I wish someone could've done that with me, when I was picking up my second ever cigarette, and told me I was being stupid, and that it would cost me someday. But smoking was the norm back then, everybody did it - it was the _cool _thing to do. All teddy boys did it. Smoking, getting hammered - the drugs only came in later. I remember the incessant need to feel the smoke burning the back of my throat, the tobacco on my tongue ... the smoker's cough every winter was the worst.

If someone like Jenna had just told me to _stop right there _things might've been different.

Quietly, I tell her, 'I wish I had someone like you to tell me that when I was young.'

'OHMYGEORGE.' I whirl around, interrupted for the second time, and find myself nose-to-nose with John. 'Jeez, John, I _told _you not to do that!' I yell.

'You ... you ... you talked to that girl,' exclaimed John. 'Ya can't do that! It's not ... you're not ... you're not supposed to do that! Gawd, Harrison, who is she anyway? Your granddaughter?'

Instantly, I feel like being sick. John's right, I really shouldn't do this. And ... ewww. Jenna's older than my granddaughter, but ... that is just disgusting, really, to think of. 'No!' I say crossly. 'John it's rude to spy on people ya know!'

'Wasn't spying!' protests John. 'I came to get ya to come with Stu 'n me. Why're you being so secretive anyway?' I shrug unresponsively. 'Well come on, you've been outta the scene for a while, Geo. We're gonna get ourselves a gig!'

'A gig?' I say uncertainly. 'With who?'

'Me, you, Stu and this kid who came in a few days ago. Come on, man! Don't ya miss the old life?'

I ponder this question and remember watching Paul record his latest album a few months ago. I love to play my guitar - guitars, I've got a beautiful collection of at least a dozen back home - and I do it all the time, but I haven't been performing for a while ... I used to a couple of years ago when I first came **Here**, but of late I haven't been in the limelight. 'Alright, John. I guess we could play a gig.'

'Gear!' says John happily. All those years spent in New York, and he still hasn't gotten rid of the Limey phrases. 'Let's go get your guitar.'

* * *

**Thanks for reading :) Review! -Jen. **


	15. Chapter 15

Exams.

Jenna glared at the schedule tacked up on the back of her door. She hated exams. She didn't so much mind the studying as the pressure to do well and the fact that she couldn't do anything fun like paint walls or tie dye her clothes for the span of a whole month because she had to study. And then there was being confined to the house: sitting, always, at her desk, hunched over it, studying, studying, studying, till her brain felt too full to cram anything more into it.

But, sadly, it had to be done. Jenna flung a cushion against the wall to vent her feelings - it hit with a _thump_, which satisfied her, and then she wearily got up to consult the hated schedule. Today was her Geography day. Jenna's anger softened a little: she didn't mind Geography so much, because she could memorize it quite easily and liked the subject, too. She went to the kitchen to get herself a snack - during the exams, Jenna never held herself back on comfort food, because she was already using all her self-control on studying the required amount every day, wasn't she? She could worry about putting on weight later. Besides, Jenna always felt guilty when she worried too much about putting on weight - there were enough starving people in the world, and she didn't need to starve herself by wasting away the food she was privileged to have, did she?

Instead of eating something, though, Jenna poured herself a glass of Coke. Coke was her studying fuel. It stopped her from feeling dead and sleepy. She took the glass back to her room and put her iPod into John's speaker system.

Just as she sat down, she heard it.

'Sooo, whatya doin?'

Jenna jumped. George had _spoken_. 'Studying,' she stated. 'For my exams.'

'Oh.' George sounded thoughtful. 'Never bothered with that.'

'I know,' said Jenna. 'From the time you started playing guitar.'

George chuckled. 'It's kinda weird how so many people know about my life.'

Jenna frowned at her textbook. 'I need to ask you something.'

'Yeah, love?'

Jenna's heart skipped when he said _love_. She loved those Liverpudlian phrases like _gear _and _love_. 'Are you just a voice in my head?'

'Hmm,' said George. 'I think not.'

'You _think?' _

'I do, yes.'

Jenna rolled her eyes. 'Okay, are you real?'

'Very much.'

'Where are you?'

'I ... I can't say.'

Jenna raised her eyebrows.

'Okay, okay. I'm dead, but ... that doesn't mean I'm not here. Technically, I'm not supposed to be here. I mean, I'm not allowed to talk. I'm just allowed to watch.'

'Why?'

'Rules. There aren't many, but that one's pretty serious.'

'So ... you're breaking rules for me?' Jenna asked shyly, grinning.

'Umm ... yeah.'

Jenna caught her breath. 'No, that can't be true.' She was an existentialist, she couldn't believe this. It was an elaborate trick, all of it. 'Sure. You can just quit it now, okay?'

'Quit what?'

'Quit doing what you're doing. Whoever you are. Just leave me alone.'

'You don't want me to talk to you?' George's voice sounded hurt. _No_, it was _not _George's voice - she had to not think of him as George. Because it _wasn't. _

_'_No,' said Jenna shortly. 'I don't believe what you're saying.'

There was silence. Jenna felt a twist of regret in her stomach. Then, quietly, she said, 'Do you ... do you think you could prove it to me somehow?'

There was a pause. Then, 'I'll find a way.'


	16. Chapter 16

**Thank you for the reviews! :) **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

* * *

**Dreamer**

**Chapter Sixteen: The Good Old Days**

George is standing in what he has dubbed the Music Room, as it holds all his musical instruments - namely guitars, though he has a couple of drums, sitars, basses and keyboards. He even has a baby grand piano tucked away in the corner of the room, even though he never uses it. It was a gift from somebody and it's a beautiful specimen, which he just likes to possess even though he can't play it much.

The walls are lined with hooks; each hook supports a guitar. He's collected different brands, different kinds, all of them without a speck of dust, though some might have fallen out of tune from lack of use: he has his favourites to play, sometimes forgetting others. He can't decide which one to play for his first gig in years. Well, the blue twelve-string sounds good, but it won't go with the orange _kurta _he's planning to wear. George likes to play the white six-string one sometimes - it's still plugged into an amp - but he thinks he wants to play this gig with a twelve-string. The stage lights might reflect off its smooth white surface too much anyway.

Ten minutes later, George has decided on a honey-coloured six-string Gretsch guitar. He puts on his orange _kurta_, gives his hair a cursory combing, stuffs a bunch of leads with his guitar into the protective hard-case, and troops outside the house to where John sits on the doorstep, smoking. John looks him up and down, and then shakes his head. 'No Indian clothes, Georgie boy, we're playing this one completely anonymous. Stu and I thought we'd do it like the old days.' John grins and strikes an Elvis pose: he's wearing a leather jacket with a black turtleneck inside and drainpipe trousers. And those black high-heeled shoes George remembers so clearly. To finish off the boys' original Teddy-boy look, John's hair is quiffed back with liberal amounts of gel. George sighs. 'Alright, but I'm not making my hair like that,' he says firmly. John makes a face. 'Whatever. Hurry up.'

George scurries into the house and regretfully takes of his comfortable, loose pants and _kurta_. He struggles into the drainpipe trousers and leather jacket, then brushes out his hair and squints at himself in the looking-glass: he looks incredibly _young_. George might choose to appear as a twenty-one-year-old, but in his head he has at _least _seventy years (he can't be bothered to count). This look was one that went with those impulsive teenage days when image was a huge part of performance and he wanted to be accepted in the band and he wanted to impress girls. Oh well, quite appropriate for this gig: he's beginning to feel a little unsure and a little nervous. He hasn't performed in so long, after all. George is used to playing the guitar by himself, under a tree or in the solitude of his living room, with maybe Farrah or John watching occasionally. Sometimes Mum and Dad too, but they don't drop in too often - they're off gallivanting with their old friends. George isn't sure he wants to perform today after all.

'John,' he begins, stepping out of the house, but the minute the toe of his high-heeled boot cracks through the door, John's snatched up his guitar and headed up the driveway. George sighs resignedly and follows.

* * *

'And we present to you,' John yells into the mic, 'the Silver Beats!' They're using an old name of the Beatles', the Silver Beats, which at the time evolved to the Silver Beatles and then just the Beatles. Stu plucks a couple of bass strings, pretending to check the sound, but George can see that he's showing off the skills he's drilled in with practice that had been lacking during their earlier performances. George remembers that Stu often played shows with his back to the audience, because he was unsure of his talent on the bass, but he's definitely been playing a lot more **Here**, because he's improved greatly.

The crowd is only a little tipsy yet; they greet the trio with applause and yells. A friend of John's is playing drums with them. He sits behind the drum kit and crashes out a fantastic drum solo without missing a single beat, which makes the crowd go wild.

And as they play, the lights of the stage are mystical and entrance George, and he moves into that other world where mostly only sounds exist. Later on, he doesn't remember much of the performance except for that amazing high he always gets while performing, that mindblowing feeling and that - what his friend Eric Clapton had dubbed a 'guitargasm'. After the performance, George thinks he's had too much excitement for the evening and is picturing how he'll go and meditate for a few hours under the stars to work off the adrenaline pumping in his veins, but John, Stu, and the drummer, Chad, have other plans. So they go to a club and it's exactly the sort of club that they used to frequent in their younger days - underground, brick arches, live band, stuffed full of dancing people.

And George loves it. He hasn't partied much of late, choosing to stick more to the areas just around his home, hanging out with some people. So he dances, albeit a little awkwardly because he's never been much of a dancer.

Eventually he's caught by the attention of a girl with black long hair. It looks kind of like Jenna's, but this girl's features are slightly more grown-up and cat-like, though she is undoubtedly extremely beautiful. George starts out resisting her advances, but gives in and soon he's dancing with her arms wrapped around his neck, and then they're going back to his house and she's leading the way to his room.

She says, 'I can't believe I'm sleeping with _the _George Harrison of the _Beatles_.' Well, he never mentioned to her that he was George Harrison; he thought she hadn't a clue who he was. George blinks at her and suddenly doesn't quite want to do this. It's a little late though, because she's already ripping off his shirt buttons. Oh, well.

* * *

George wakes up early with the rising sun. Well, seven hours to go for his wake-up time, he might as well get some more sleep. He turns over and finds an obstruction in his way. Suddenly, he's not sleepy anymore. George drags himself out of bed and has a shower, then changes into the orange _kurta _he'd earlier discarded and goes out of the house to the lawns. The grass is still damp with dew; he sits cross-legged in his favourite spot and tries to meditate. This works for about half a minute, till the window of his house is opened and the girl - Genevieve, her name was - leaned out of the window and called, 'Ge-orge.' Reluctantly, George went up to the window.

'Come back up,' called Genevieve, seductively. George squinted against the sunlight. 'Actually, I've got to go somewhere,' he says. 'Um. Bathroom is first left down the hallway. You can just let yourself out of the back door, I won't be back for a while.'

* * *

George finds Jenna sitting at her desk. She's frowning at a very complex-looking textbook. He tries to look closer at what she's reading, but he can't make out much of it. A huge pile of books lies on her bed, papers spread out haphazardly. There's a huge glass of Coke on the table, and there's music playing in the room, which isn't unusual: Jenna listens to lots of music, though it's not always Beatles. She has very versatile tastes, George thinks.

'Sooo, whatya doin'?' he questions. She starts up, surprised, then states, 'Studying. For my exams.' Oh, right. She's in the tenth grade - from what George has picked up from her school life, she's got a _huge _set of exams this year. George himself never cared much for studying hard after he started playing guitar. 'Oh. Never bothered with that,' he says lightly.

'I know,' says Jenna, poking her lip with the pencil. 'From the time you started playing guitar.'

George chuckles, amused. 'It's kinda weird how so many people know about my life.'

Jenna frowns at the textbook. 'I need to ask you something,' she says, scrunching her eyebrows cutely.

'Yeah, love?' George tenses, wondering what's coming.

'Are you just a voice in my head?'

George is impressed that she's asked that. It's pretty incredible that she can accept his speaking to her and believe him .. sort of ... he was expecting this to come up.

'Hmm,' he says. 'I think not.'

'You _think_?' she demands, dissatisfied.

'I do, yes.'

Jenna rolls her eyes. 'Okay, are you real?'

George ponders this for a second. 'Very much.'

'Where are you?' she questions.

Damn, she's curious. (Who wouldn't be?) George can't answer that, however. 'I ... I can't say,' he mumbles.

She raises her eyebrows and he falters under the look. 'Okay, okay. I'm dead, but ... that doesn't mean I'm not here. Technically, I'm not supposed to be here. I mean, I'm not allowed to talk. I'm just allowed to watch.'  
'Why?' she asks.

'Rules. There aren't that many, but this one's pretty serious,' he says.

'So ... you're breaking rules for me?' asks Jenna shyly, grinning.

'Umm ... yeah.' George is pleased that he's finally coaxed a smile out of her.

'No, that can't be true.' Jenna shakes her head, suddenly stubborn. 'Sure. You can just quit it now, okay?'

Confused, George says, 'Quit what?'

'Quit doing what you're doing. Whoever you are. Just leave me alone.'

George doesn't know what to do. One second she was cool, and then something flipped, like she just doesn't believe him. Well, it's a pretty hard story to buy.

'You don't want me to talk to you?' he asks, hurt and confused.

'No,' she says shortly. 'I don't believe what you're saying.'

He can't argue with that.

Then her expression softens a little and she says, hesitantly, 'Do you ... do you think you could prove it to me somehow?'

George is desperately happy that she hasn't ordered him to stop talk to her. But how can he prove it to her? There's nothing he can do, only things he can say, and she won't believe that. This, however, isn't the time to say so. He _must _find a way. So he says, 'I'll try.' And that answer seems to satisfy her.

But George can't help but wonder what on earth he can do.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! :) -Jen. **


	17. Chapter 17

**Big chapter, this one. :D **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

* * *

**Dreamer**

**Chapter Seventeen: Love Found and Love Lost**

Jenna walked down the corridors of her school, having just given in her exam paper. There weren't too many people; most were still writing, or double-checking their work, but Jenna hadn't wanted to spend extra time sitting in the exam hall, full of bent heads and the sound of pens scribbling and of papers turning. She grabbed her bag from where she'd left it outside the door, among many others, and then decided to take a walk while she waited for her friends to finish. They always did something fun on the last day of the exams. Today, they were just going to hang out, and then she was going to go watch John's band perform. Since Tan had left, they hadn't had much gigs, but now they'd formed a new line-up - Jude, John, and a new guitarist and vocalist.

Jenna sat on the stone ledge outside the exam hall; the weather was stormy again, and she loved it. The first rain after a long hot spell. A couple of people were already hanging around outside the hall, but she had no desire to join them: they were all discussing the answers, and she hated doing that, because it always brought her confidence down.

As Jenna waited, Jude turned the corner of the corridor. 'Hey,' he greeted her with a grin. 'Finally outta these goddamn exams, huh?'

'Tell me about it.' Jude was three years above Jenna, but they still talked whenever they passed in school. Which was to say, not too often, since they were at opposite ends of the campus and their lunch timings were different. He threw his arm around her in a hug. Most boys doused themselves in deodorant till their skin reeked almost sickeningly with the stuff, but Jude smelled clean and nice, with another scent she couldn't identify: maybe a deodorant or an aftershave, but it sure did smell nice. Smelling nice was an important thing to Jenna. She hated body odour. Jude was wearing a Rastafarian necklace, Jenna noticed with interest. And he was wearing a wooden bracelet: Jenna liked it when boys wore bracelets.

'You're coming for the gig tonight, right?' asked Jude. Jenna nodded, 'Wouldn't miss it.'

'Oh, wait, I finally remembered!' Jude grinned triumphantly and slung his bag frontwards to unzip it. 'Hang on a sec ...' He pulled something out of his bag and handed it to Jenna. 'There ya go!' It was Eric Clapton's autobiography. Jenna gaped at it. She remembered seeing it at his house a couple of months ago - a year nearly - but he'd still been reading it, and so couldn't lend it to her. 'Oh my god, Jude, I have been waiting for this for_ever_!' exclaimed Jenna. She ran her fingers over its smooth cover, beaming.

'Now, no getting fingerprints on it or doggy-earing it,' said Jude, wagging his finger sternly. 'Oh, who am I kidding? It couldn't be in safer hands.' Jenna laughed. 'Of course, what were you thinking?' she said, stowing it carefully into her bag. 'Here,' she added, thrusting a chocolate chip cookie into his hands. Jude licked the cookie tenderly. 'Mmm.'

The exam halls were thrust open by the tidal wave of students eager to be out of the strain of exams. Jude and Jenna hurriedly made their way out of the rapidly filling corridor and out of the school gates. Jenna's friends beckoned to her. 'See you at the gig,' he called.

* * *

George watches Jenna standing in the crowd, coloured lights from the stage falling on her face. The band hasn't begun to perform yet, but he can see the excitement on her face, and on all the other faces in the crowd; this band is going to be big, he thinks, they've got quite a fan following already. Of course, the internet helps with such things - when _he _was seventeen, he was struggling to get gigs with the Beatles in shitty bars where people threw beer bottles at them at the end of performances. Well, that was just the beginning - things got much better, of course.

The vocalist is a tall, beautiful girl with an amazing voice. She introduces the band and they begin to perform, and yes, George can see that they are extremely talented, all of them. He looks towards Jenna: she's completely sucked in. He follows her gaze: at first it flits between all the performers, but later it begins to fixate mostly on one. That one is Jude. George frowns. Then the song ends and she cheers with the crowd, no longer looking at only Jude. She never really was, he realises - it just looked like that, she was really looking at her brother performing. He relaxes.

* * *

It's after the gig, and there are only a few stragglers hanging around the bar. Jude, John and Jenna wait there with the boys' guitar cases, along with John's girlfriend Emmea, the vocalist Brea, and the drummer Kelso. Kelso and Brea depart; Emmea and John say they're going to get a soda from the stall across the dark street, but they quickly disappear, leaving Jenna and Jude sitting on the steps outside the bar. A drunk man stumbles past the pair; he leers at Jenna, then goes on his way, seeing Jude sitting beside her. Not long after, a stray dog slinks through a shadow and growls slightly before retreating. 'Let's get back to the car,' whispers Jenna; George inwardly agrees with her, this does not look like a very safe place for the two of them to be. Plus, he's slightly perturbed by the way they sit on the steps. They're not touching and she doesn't _seem _interested in doing anything with him, but still.

Jude nods, but the second they step out into the street, rain comes crashing down, so abrupt and sudden that they both jump back in surprise. 'Run for it?' says Jude, and Jenna nods. He grabs her hand - George's frown deepens - and run through the dark street. They're both completely soaked to the skin by the time they reach the car; Jude fumbles with the keys and opens the back door, and they stumble in. Jenna shivers, squeezing water out of her hair. Jude gets in and shuts the door. He's shivering too; he shifts closer to Jenna and they huddle together. _It's just for warmth_, thinks George rationally, they're only sitting that way because they're both wet and cold. That's the only reason why. _Get away from him_, he feels like telling Jenna. But that would just be stupid now, wouldn't it? He had not right to tell her what to do. He had not right over her at all. And he tells himself that he won't interfere at all, because he shouldn't, in fact maybe he shouldn't be watching Jenna right now, except he can't tear his eyes away.

_Shhh, George, no speaking. _

He's so sure that he can keep himself under control.

Till Jude kisses her.

And then they're kissing, properly, and their lips are meshing and he's got his hands all over her and she's running her hands through his hair and she's _kissing him back _- she's letting him slide his tongue into her mouth - George can't stop himself, 'Jenna!' he shouts out, angrily. She breaks away from Jude abruptly, looking startled. 'What the fuck are you doing?' George demands. Jude appears not to have heard George; he looks completely bewildered. Jenna looks torn: Jude is looking at her, confused, and George is waiting for her answer, upset, and George feels a little bit ashamed that he broke apart their kiss, but - no, it was good that he did.

Finally she chooses between whom to respond. She lays her head on Jude's chest and he relaxes, looking relieved that nothing is wrong. George is fuming still; he was even okay when Tan kissed Jenna, because he was going away. But Jude - does it mean nothing to Jenna that he, George, watches her almost every day? Talks to her? He doesn't even talk to his ex-_wife_, for goodness's sake. But he talks to her. And does she think that means nothing? People don't get to talk to George Harrison from the dead everyday! She cares about him, doesn't she? Or is her obsession with his songs confined to just that - his music?

Disgusted, George tears himself away and vows never to return to the **Looking **place again.

* * *

**Oh no she did-unt! This chapter took me a long time to write because I hate making my character-soulmates fight. o_o But I figured I had to throw it in, so. Tell me what you think! Should I make Jude and Jenna establish a proper relationship, or should I make them call it off? Ideas and suggestions are welcome. :D**

**Also go check out my other story, Blackbird Singing in the Dead of Night, if you like this one :) Thanks for reading! -Jen.**


	18. Chapter 18

**Thanks for the reviews and suggestions! They inspire me to write even more :) **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

* * *

**Dreamer**

**Chapter Eighteen: I Don't Know, I Don't Know**

Jenna was silent the whole way back home.

Emmea, John, Kelso, Jude and Brea talked and joked and head-banged, but Jenna was trying to sort things out in her head. The fact that she was sitting that close to Jude - the car was pretty cramped with four of them squished into the back seat - did not help matters, especially since she didn't even mind his arm around her - she _liked _it. And she liked him too. She _had _kissed him back ...

No! Jenna loved George, she'd loved him for ages, even more so since they'd started talking. She was being downright stupid - with a famous rockstar, _the _love of her life, a Beatle, _George Harrison for goodness's sake _- was talking to her, and she was running off kissing other boys?

The worst part was that that extremely logical and reasonable thought was countered by an equally logical and reasonable query: to prove to George that she loved him, would she never be able to date other boys for her whole life? Would she have to live without loving anybody but George? Because Jenna did not intend to die anytime soon. She wanted to live a full, proper life. Of course she'd thought about how she would meet George when she died - but that was ages away, aeons, away; she was just sixteen.

Jude was a year and a half older than her, but he was maybe the sweetest guy she knew and they shared similar tastes. He was pretty cute too, and Jenna was pretty sure that she liked him. She just wasn't sure whether she liked him enough to lose George.

* * *

Jenna sat cross-legged on her bed, finally alone in her room.

'George,' she said. She waited to hear his characteristic _Yeah, love? _But there was only silence. Jenna hadn't been expecting anything else.

'George, please talk to me. Please don't be mad at me. I need to tell you something.'

Again, silence. Jenna wasn't sure if he was even there. She could normally tell when he was watching her, even if he didn't talk to her: that was whenever there were other people around - but she couldn't feel him watching right now. Maybe he was just not there. He must have other things to do.

After he had interrupted her and Jude, it was apparent that other people couldn't hear his voice unless he intended it. Jenna pondered this: he'd seemed so angry when she and Jude were kissing. Did that mean that he cared for her? Did that mean he was jealous? It couldn't: he was fifty years older than her and she was sure he'd have _some _sort of girlfriend or wife wherever he was. Jenna couldn't understand why George would bother breaking her and Jude up, it was not like she and George could ever be together, right? Not for at least five decades, if Jenna didn't die before that.

And then there was that: how should she react to Jude? Would he want them to engage in a proper relationship, or was that kiss just a one-time thing? And what should she say? Because Jenna did not want to hurt Jude: they were good friends and she _did _like him, even if it was nowhere close to what she felt for George.

'George, if you're there, please tell me,' she whispered, but there was no reply. Admitting defeat, Jenna lay down and fell asleep.

* * *

George wanders through the house, like a restless spirit, entering rooms, circling them and then abruptly turning back out to the corridor; stalking up and down the stairs, trying to clear his head, trying to work off that energy and adrenaline rush; in a desperate attempt, he runs out of the house, across the lawns, and to the little lake, where he tears off his clothes and plunges straight into the icy cold water.

Cold floods his skin and his brain, exerting vicelike grips on him. George swims to the other side with clean, strong breaststrokes, clambers onto the bank and lies, panting, on the grass, letting the water dribble off him and the cool night air blow slivers of ice across his bare skin. He stares at the dark branches and leaves obscuring the sky: they look creepy, like hands waiting to grab him. George sits up, shakes his head like a dog, then braces himself and dives back into the water, swimming back to the side he had first come in from. Thoroughly exhausted and chilled to the bone, George hurries back to his house, shivering, and pulls on some warm clothes back in his room. He goes down to the kitchen and there stands Farrah. 'What,' she states, 'the _hell _were you doing, George? It's fucking freezing in that lake! It's October, you idiot!'

Shivering, George doesn't reply. 'Sit,' orders Farrah. George obeys. She takes out a saucepan and starts making hot chocolate. She pours it into two cups, pushes one across the table to George and keeps one for herself. He warms his fingers around it, waiting for it to cool a little, and then takes a sip; it warms his frigid lips. 'Now tell me,' says Farrah. 'What is it that made you leave a drop-dead gorgeous girl like Genevieve in your house after you shagged her? What made you jump in the freezing lake in October like a freaking loony?'

George blushes. 'How do you know about Genevieve?'

'I came here to visit you and found her looking absolutely bewildered in the middle of your bed,' answers Farrah coolly. 'Pretty disappointed, she was. I didn't think you'd be _that _bad at it,' she adds mischievously.

George reaches across to whack Farrah's auburn head jokingly, then shrugs off the question by drinking more of his hot chocolate. But Farrah's not a Viking princess who doesn't know how to get what she wants. 'Well?' she persists. 'What's up?'

George frowns. 'Well, there's this girl ...'

'At the **Looking **place,' says Farrah. George's head snaps up in surprise. 'How do you know _that _one, then?' he asks.

'It's pretty obvious, babe. But don't worry - that secret will stay between you and me.' Farrah grins. 'And John.'

'And _John_?' George splutters hot chocolate across the table. 'Why did you tell _him _of all people? I'll never hear the end of this!'

Farrah looks a tiny bit abashed. 'I didn't mean to. He squirmed it out of me. He can be very scary,' she adds, defensively.

George shakes his head. 'Alright then, what else do you know?'

'Her name is Jenna, that's all I know.'

George sighs heavily and then he tells Farrah everything, from beginning to end. She nods, her glacier-green eyes never leaving his face for a second. 'And then ... today ... you remember that guy Jude I told you about?'

'The guitarist?' asks Farrah, trying to recall.

'The guitarist,' confirms George. 'Well, it was after one of their gigs, and he and Jen got caught in the rain so they ran to the car and then he kissed her.'

At this, Farrah frowns. 'What about Tan? I thought they kissed too?'

'Tan went abroad, remember?' This is why George was okay with Tan kissing Jenna, he thinks: because Tan was going away, so it was really only a goodbye-kiss. But with Jude, it's more like a beginning-of-a-relationship-kiss.

'Oh, right,' says Farrah. 'So then? Did she kiss him back?'

'She did,' mutters George darkly.

'And what then?'

'I ... I yelled at her.'

'You _what_?' exclaims Farrah, her eyes bugging out. 'George Harrison, you _interrupted _them?' Then she looks abashed, 'Well, alright, then what happened?'

'Well, she heard me, but he didn't, so she broke apart from him and then ... yeah.'

'Yeah _what_?' presses Farrah.

'And then I came back here and I'm never going back to the **Looking **place again!' declares George. 'I'm done with her! In fact, I think Genevieve left her number on my pillow, I'm just going to call her -'

'You'll do nothing of the sort!' Farrah stands up, physically pushes back into his chair and then reclaims her own place opposite him. 'George, she's sixteen years old, do you really expect her to not date anyone or have a crush on anyone because of you? Even if she's ready to do that, you can't let her!'

George frowns. 'Why not?'

Farrah rolls her eyes. 'Because. She'll spend her whole life waiting. She'll never love anyone. Even if she does, she'll feel like she shouldn't. She'll never liver her life fully.'

George stares at the blue waves painted on his cup. Farrah seems to be making sense, but ... 'So what do I do?' he asks quietly.

'Nothing,' says Farrah. 'Stay away from her.'

'What?' George is confused. 'I just said I was never going to see her again and you told me to do nothing of the sort.'

'I meant don't call Genevieve, she's just super creepy. George, I know you too well. I know you'll never stay away from her. I know you'll keep watching her. But you can't talk to her. You just can't.' Her green eyes pierce George's and she says seriously, 'It's for her own good.'

George holds her gaze till he can't anymore and instead drops his eyes to his cup of hot chocolate, sniffling a little. 'Alright.'

Once Farrah leaves, George walks out to the **Looking **place. It's cold out and he's forgotten to wear anything warm, but he can't feel the chill winds that wrap around him. George **Looks **for Jenna: she lies on her bed, sleeping, her hair falling into her face a little. He watches her closed eyes for a little bit, and then whispers, 'Goodbye, Jenna.'

Jenna jerks awake and sits bolt upright, and for a single second the moonlight pierces her eyes and unleashes the gold, brown and hazel in them. 'George?' she gasps. But when he doesn't reply, she just lies down again, looking disappointed, and closes her eyelids on those beautiful kaleidoscope eyes.


	19. Chapter 19

**Thank you for the reviews! :D **

**I know I normally write the George bits in present tense, but they sounded better in past over here. That's probably just for this one chapter though. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

* * *

**Dreamer**

**Chapter Nineteen: Endings and Continuations**

He watched her.

He watched her going on with her life as though nothing had happened, talking to people and doing her work and living as though he'd never existed. She didn't even take down the pictures of George's face that were stuck on her walls; that, at least, would have shown _some _reaction. She didn't remove _Something _from her playlist of favourite songs. And she didn't stop seeing Jude. Sometimes, when there was no one else around - times when George would have seized the opportunity to talk to her, before _that _night - her eyes would look sad, reminiscent. But she never spoke. She never tried to get his attention.

But George didn't care. He watched her. He watched her talk and laugh and smile with Jude. Whenever they kissed or touched, he would leave, but he would always return the next day, just to watch her.

* * *

Jenna felt him watching her.

She could tell as always when he was watching her and when he wasn't. But she didn't let herself care. George might have been an amazing person with a beautiful soul but he was dead, and there was no getting around that. Jenna could talk to him all she liked, but at the end of the day, it would just be her with his voice in an empty room, and that wouldn't be enough. When Jenna talked to Jude, it felt real and proper, and most of all Jenna could be absolutely positive that it _was _real. No matter how sure she was that George was really talking to her, she could never see him: it felt like talking to walls. One of the things that bothered Jenna the most was that she couldn't _see _George. Jenna prided herself on being good at reading people, but it was extremely hard to know what a person was thinking when she couldn't see them. He could see her whenever he liked - even when she was naked, though he'd promised not to.

On top of all that, George had no claim over her whatsoever: he'd never voiced any interest in her either, so why should he suddenly act so weird when Jude kissed her? And then there was that: Jenna thought Jude was maybe the sweetest, nicest, cutest guy she could ever have the good fortune to date, but somehow she just never felt those _sparks _when she kissed him. And if she didn't feel them, how could he? How could one person feel sparks when the other didn't?

Still, Jenna didn't want to hurt him. Sparks or not, Jude had always been good to her.

Jenna was confused.

* * *

He watched her.

At first, George watched her everyday. He had accepted that he could no longer speak to her - he no longer blamed her for choosing Jude over him, though he couldn't say he liked her decision - but he could at least still watch her. And so George watched her: first every day, religiously. Farrah would sometimes meet him at the **Looking **place and try to draw his attention to other things; sometimes she just sat and watched with him in silence.

Then John and Stu began to visit George more often - he thought this might have been upon Farrah's insistence - and whisking him away to their place to jam. And so George immersed himself once more into the world of music, only this time he had John and Stu and Chad to back him up. George wrote his feelings out on the strings of his guitar, and soon he began to pick up his old _sitar _again, taking it out to his lawn to play it there.

He still watched her. But the visits lessened slowly from every day to every other day, and then thrice a week, then twice a week and then once. George was slowly building himself a life, a life that existed outside of the **Looking **place - for he had long ago learned that, though **Here **was a place of the dead, it was better to think of it as a second life than as a death - but he would not let go of Jenna completely. So once a week he would visit her, and this neither John or Stu or Farrah denied him. Once a week, they would stop trying to keep him occupied; once a week, they would not rigidly avoid mentioning the **Looking **place; once a week, George would visit the place and watch her, just for a little while.

He would not deny himself that.

Once a week, he watched her.

* * *

Jenna felt him watching her.

At first, it was almost continuous, that feeling of him watching her. It set her nerves on edge, it made her constantly tense, because she also knew that he was not speaking to her. And so she set about acting completely indifferent to him watching her.

But slowly the visits dwindled. She felt him watching sometimes, and sometimes he was not watching. Some days he did not watch her at all. The visits lessened still more; and then it was just once a week.

Jenna felt an odd sense of relief, and at the same time she felt immeasurably sad. For she and George truly had a beautiful friendship, if that was the only word that could be used to describe it. The things they used to talk about - anything under the sun could qualify as a topic of conversation for them, up for their scrutiny and debate. George was a huge influence in her life; Jenna knew that she had lost something irreplaceable.

* * *

It's a bright morning; one of those days when it's so bright that the light falls everywhere, diffused but still blinding. George yawns, stretching his arms over his head as he steps out of his house and strolls barefoot across the dewy-wet grass of the lawns. He wanders into his well-tended orchard, where light spirals through the leaves, and grabs one of the apples dangling from a branch. Biting into it, he senses movement that is too large to belong to a squirrel or a bird, and turns. 'Farrah?' he calls; the source of movement seems to be a person of about her height. But as he approaches her, he sees it's not Farrah. A tall girl with pale skin, made paler by the white light, dressed in loose white pants and a white cotton shirt. Her hair is red, and frizzy, her eyes brown, distant and lost. She looks confused, lost, as though she doesn't know where she is, but isn't particularly worried; only vaguely curious. George recognizes her.

'Rhianna?' he asks. The red-headed girl blinks, her eyes slowly focusing on him. 'Yes?' she says distantly.

She's the girl who was Jenna's friend, who died. George remembers that. She wears the disoriented expression of a new arrival. Not so new now, George thinks, but it does take a while to get used to **Here**. It's not so different from **There**, but the concept is rather hard to grasp. George takes hold of her shoulder gently. 'Do you have a place to go?'

Rhianna frowns. 'No.'

George sighs. 'Come on. I'll get you something to eat and wear.' He sets off across the lawn, with her trailing behind. Seated at the kitchen table, she pokes at her food with a fork. 'Rhianna, did you ever know a girl named Jenna?' asks George.

Rhianna's eyes snap up, and for the first time they're fully _there_, fully aware, not somewhere else. 'Yes,' she says slowly. 'Jenna. I know Jenna.' She frowns again. 'Where am I?'

'You're in a place called **Here**,' George tells her. 'Do you want to go home?'

Rhianna contemplates this. 'No,' she says decisively. 'I ... I think I like it **Here**.'

* * *

**I don't know why I put in the Rhianna bit, but I shall be building on it. I know that Rhianna died wayyy back, but the whole system of Here is rather unclear and erratic. And she's been wandering around senseless for a while. **

**I was kind of disappointed that so many readers disliked Jude, since I based him on my first ever boyfriend who's still a great friend of mine. But, since you do, would you prefer Tan to Jude? I'm open to suggestions! :) -Jen. **


	20. Chapter 20

**Thank you for the reviews! :) **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

* * *

**Dreamer**

**Chapter Twenty: Beginnings and Continuations**

The late afternoon sunlight slants through the windows of the house. I sit with John, Stu and Chad sat in it, baking in its warmth and going over a song that John's just written.

When we first started out with this line-up, I was afraid that it would be too much like the Beatles. The Beatles were an enormous part of my life and career and without them I don't know what I'd be, but I don't think that is what I want now.

But it's not like the Beatles at all. Firstly, we are not boys as the Beatles were when they started out: each of us has the experience of a lifetime, and we all respect each other highly. Secondly, the world of music has opened up vastly, raining down on us so many new genres: the sound we produce now is a little more acoustic, more transcendental, feelgood music. We've been performing live a lot; we're even thinking of recording a couple of our songs. When I came **Here**, I was just so tired of fame and record deals and album sales that I decided to take a good long, maybe forever, break from publishing music. But the thing with this band is that we're all so comfortable, laid-back, there's no struggle for recognition because none of us need that - we just want to share our music and have fun. Which is why this works just fine for me.

And even though not talking to Jenna has carved a chunk out of my daily routine, it's not so bad, because now I'm filling it with music. Practices, for when we perform live. And music is taking me forward spiritually. You'd think that dying would give you all the answers, but it doesn't. Coming **Here **doesn't define God any more than being **There**. I meditate often now, every morning, and chant, too.

John is going over the acoustic riff, making little changes while Stu adds subtle bass notes on his acoustic. Chad raps a little rhythm on a drum between his knees. I get up to get a snack from the kitchen. Farrah and Rhianna sit there. Farrah's taken Rhianna over; she's helping her get her feet back on the ground. **Here**, there are many people who just never get used to the change from their old lives and wander forever, lost and detached. Rhianna surely would have been one of those, had she not stumbled upon my little Friar Park. Farrah's finally getting words out of her.

After a little while, Stu, Chad, John and I put on our stage outfits and get into Stu's beat-up Jeep and drive down to the city, to the pub-café where we normally play. I grin at my new bandmates and they grin back, and we begin to play.

* * *

The sky was shot with blues and purples. Unusually striking for the sky at that time of the year; Jenna imagined mixing those shades out of paint and streaking them across paper. Next to her, John was fiddling with his acoustic guitar. Jude opened the terrace door and came out to sit next to her. Jude and John exchanged some kind of wordless conversation behind Jenna's back; it was about her, she could tell, and she had no desire to know what it was about. Holding up her camera, she shifted slightly so that the picture could include the silhouette of trees and houses framing the bottom of the picture. After a moment, their silent conversation ended and John got up and left them alone.

Jude lit a cigarette and took a deep drag; then he handed it to Jenna, who took one drag just for the hell of it: she'd never thought smoking was particularly impressive. 'Jenna,' said Jude. 'I really like you, and all this time has been amazing. But I get the feeling that we were better as friends, and I know you feel that way too. I don't think we should be together anymore, and I know you'll agree when you see why I'm telling you this.'

'Why?' asked Jenna: she had understood everything he had said up until the second half of his last sentence.

In answer, Jude got up and walked over to the door that led into the house. Behind it stood Tan.

His hair had grown out, and his stance seemed taller, more confident. His eyes were warm, brown, full of enthusiasm and awareness, and on his face was that smile: that smile which managed to be shy and mischievous and charming and charismatic and goofy and friendly and meaningful all at the same time. Jude looked between them, then gave Jenna a little smile that said three words: _I release you_. He slapped his friend on the back and then left the terrace.

Jenna felt her lips curve upward in response to Tan's broad smile. 'I didn't know you were coming back,' she said.

'I didn't, either,' he laughed. Jenna hugged him hard; she'd missed him. He smelled like snow and smoke and travels: it was an interesting combination. Jenna liked it.

Tan sat down on the terrace and Jenna sat next to him. 'Tell me what you've been up to,' she said. 'What's it like over there?'

As Tan began to talk, animatedly, his eyes lighting with the memories of his travels, Jenna listened and realized that what she had had with George truly was pointless: what she had had with Tan was real. If she was given a choice, she knew she would not like to pick anyone other than George, but perhaps with Tan, it would be okay. With Jude, it had not been okay. With Tan, Jenna knew that it would be.

So when Tan stopped speaking, exhausting himself of words, and leaned in to touch his lips to Jenna's, she pushed George out of her mind and kissed him back for all she was worth.

* * *

'George?' Rhianna asks tentatively when he takes a break from playing the sitar.

'Yeah?' George looks up.

'Farrah mentioned a place where ... where I can see my old life?'

George shrugs and returns to his sitar. He really doesn't want to talk about the **Looking **place. Moreover, he thinks it's better that Rhianna doesn't find about this right now: she's just about getting used to being **Here**, and if she finds the **Looking **place, she might begin to spend all her time watching the people in her old life, as so many newbies do.

'She said it was called the **Looking **place.'

George pretended to examine the string of his sitar as though looking for treasure under it.

'She said you used to go there a lot. What's it like?'

Finally George looked up. 'Look, Rhianna, here is a word of advice. _Stay away from the looking place_. You'll get addicted, it'll suck you in. You think you know that you can't ever go back, but that place, it messes with you. Don't go there.'

Rhianna looked at him simply. 'I have to go there, George. I have to see them.'

George looked back to his sitar. He could not say anything to her when he did exactly the same; how could he? He had to see them, too.

* * *

**I didn't feel like Jude and Jenna were working out. (Plus, I'm super-pissed at the person Jude is based on right now.) And I always thought Tan and Jenna were better for each other ... They're not the OTC though, obviously! :P **

**Wait till the next chapter. Everything's going to blow up :D I can't wait to post it! **

**Thanks for reading, and please review :D -Jen. **


	21. Chapter 21

**Thank you for the reviews :) This chapter is super important. SUPER SUPER SUPER IMPORTANT. So like, start reading. :D **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

* * *

**Dreamer**

**Chapter Twenty One: It's Not Alright.**

The day was cool, the year on the verge of winter, that nip in the air just beginning to creep in. And yet Jenna felt uncomfortably hot in her light school uniform. She pulled her shirt, shifted, pushed her hair back, and attempted vainly to concentrate in class, but something felt wrong. She couldn't put her finger on it; it wasn't just sleepiness or boredom, because she could normally concentrate through those. She wasn't feeling _unwell _exactly - she didn't have a fever or a sore throat or a headache - she just felt vaguely uneasy, not enough to be considered serious, but enough to distract Jenna. Sighing, Jenna let her eyes drop to her textbook: there was a time when she would've talked to George right now, or perhaps doodled his face. Being with Tan meant that she didn't miss him as much, but Tan was not with her right now: they were going to meet up after school.

Finally Jenna left the classroom, using the excuse that she had to go to the bathroom. In the bathroom, she locked herself into a cubicle and leaned against the door; she was finding it hard to breathe. Jenna shook her hair away from her face and pulled up her shirt, gasping lightly as she discovered a large, spreading bruise on her torso. Along her waist, towards her back: Jenna brushed her fingers across the skin, blue and purple clouding beneath it. What on earth was it? Jenna didn't remember hitting herself there. She breathed in deeply. The cubicle was getting claustrophobic. She returned to the classroom and spent the rest of the class with her head down against the book.

Something was definitely wrong.

* * *

'Here you go,' John places a flat, silver rectangular-shaped thing in front of me. It's about half an inch thick and a little heavy: a laptop. **Here **is a mixture of times: you can stumble across someone from the stone ages (though I think they stick to their own section of **Here**), you could pass somebody from the Renaissance (they, too, don't venture out of their little medieval-Europe area); but the area of **Here** that I'm in is mostly full of people from the sixties to 2012. Sure, others come and go, and there are some like Farrah who adapt to different times, but for the larger part, people from particular times stick around the same area, recreating their old worlds. So in this part of **Here**, there are plenty of gadgets like cellphones, iPods, and laptops. Farrah, who's fairly acquainted with all these futuristic inventions, has tried to get me to use them from time to time, but they're too complicated for my liking.

Which is why I survey the object John's placed in front of me with skepticism. I don't believe that I'll use it much,but he did say that you can record music on it. No need for a recording studio! We already have a soundproofed room to do it in.

'Now, you press _this _to turn it on,' says John, exaggeratedly slowly, pointing out the button. 'And then you do _this _to open the recording software.' He begins to show me how to record.

Just then, Farrah enters. 'George?' she says. 'Ello there, Farrah, how are we today?' asks John jovially, but she ignores him. 'George, we've got a problem here.'

'What?' I ask apprehensively. This doesn't sound good. Strong-headed Farrah rarely classifies things as problems, so this one's got to be serious.

'It's Rhianna.'

Farrah, John and I arrive at the all-too-familiar **Looking **place. I would've come here today anyway: it's been a week since I last came. There we see Rhianna sitting cross-legged with her eyes focused with such intensity: I lean forward to what she's **Looking **at: an older woman who resembles her so much it's like looking at what Rhianna would have turned out twenty years later, if she was living. The woman is sitting at a desk and writing. Nothing special, but Rhianna watches it so closely, it's like she's following a super-suspenseful horror movie. Her eyes don't even hold any emotions: they're just hollow and hungry.

I know this look. It's the look of the hopelessly addicted. I've seen it in friends back when I was living; they couldn't get enough of what they were addicted to, constantly hungry, constantly chasing highs, which were harder and harder to get the more they got addicted. But Rhianna's not addicted to drugs or liquor. The **Looking **place. Fairly common around newbies **Here**.

'I've been trying to get her away,' says Farrah, not troubling to keep her voice low: Rhianna can't even hear us. 'She just won't come. Please try something, George, she won't listen to me!'

I kneel in front of Rhianna. 'Rhianna,' I say, taking her shoulder gently. No response. 'Listen to me.' Not even a flicker of her eyes. 'Rhianna,' I repeat loudly. 'Rhianna!'

'It's no use,' says Farrah. John grabs her shoulders roughly and shakes them. Her head bobs back and forth but her eyes remain glued to the image of the woman who must be her mother. John picks her up and slings her like a rag doll onto his back. And that's when we get a response.

'No!' screams Rhianna, a terrible drawn-out scream. 'No!' She fights and claws John, hitting and pinching. She manages to get out of his grasp and immediately hurries back to the image, like a starved person towards food, and stares at it.

'It's no use,' whispers Farrah again. 'We've lost her.'

* * *

Jenna lay in her bed staring at the wooden slats of the bunk bed above hers. She felt sick, sick, sick, but she still couldn't tell what exactly was wrong. More bruises had appeared in several places on her body, purplish-blue discoloured patches. Jenna had taken a handful of painkiller pills, but she doubted they would help: they weren't supposed to be taken on an empty stomach, and Jenna had never felt less like eating. So she sought comfort in the only thing she could think of: music. The guitar solo of _Something _washed over her like waves on a beach, intensifying the uneasiness in her gut, and Jenna wished so much that George would talk to her right now, just to comfort her and tell her it was alright. Somewhere on the terrace of her house, Tan and Jude and John were jamming; she couldn't hear them, and they wouldn't be coming down anytime soon. Her parents were out of the house; Jenna doubted her ability to call out for help anyway.

And then suddenly she felt it. Jenna ran to the bathroom, it felt like her chest was exploding; she was coughing, coughing, coughing, and there was blood spattered on the cold white tiles under her knees, blood in the sink, blood on her clothes ... blood on her lips.

* * *

**Welll. What was THAT? :O I'm sorry I haven't been updating much, I've got a bunch of tests and stuff, but now that I've begun this little part of the story - well not so little, it's pretty darn important - I can't leave you in suspense! So, I'll try and update soon, it doesn't really take me more than 20 minutes to spin out a chapter. :) -Jen. **


	22. Chapter 22

**So this is a kind of a serious part of the story ... don't worry, it'll go up again. :) Thank you for the reviews! **_  
_

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

* * *

** Dreamer **(The doc uploader is being an ass, I can't get the title to get centre-aligned. x_x Sorry :P)

** Chapter Twenty Two: Happiness Is A Warm Gun**

_'John, get down here!' _

_'What the fuck happened? Shit -' _

_'Call someone, fast.' _

Jenna could hear voices, but it felt like they were distant and echo-y. She didn't have the energy to move a muscle; her head was uncomfortable on the cold hard floor, and she felt like she was on fire. Was this how it was going to end?

Gentle hands lifted her head and cradled the upper half of her body. 'It's okay, Jen, stay with me, John's calling an ambulance,' Tan was saying in her ear. It didn't feel like he was a hundred miles away now. 'It's alright, it's going to be okay.' Jenna forced her eyes to open a little; it felt like lifting heavyweights. She was lying on the floor in the bathroom, Tan holding her torso, his anxious face looking down at her, hands stroking her hair comfortingly. Jenna was not dying. She knew that. She knew without a doubt that this was not the end - at least, right _now _was not. But she did know that something was wrong. She could taste blood in her mouth. It reminded her of visiting the dentist.

Jenna sat up again and threw up more blood. Tan held her hair back and rubbed her back; when she stopped, he let her lean against him and wiped her mouth with a towel. 'It's okay, babe. It's gonna be alright.'

* * *

'We've lost her.'

I should have stopped Rhianna from going to the **Looking **place.

Farrah would've stopped her, I know. So would John. They know how risky it is, showing a newbie the **Looking **place. I feel personally guilty.

I've tried everything; nothing will take the guilt away. Not meditation, not my guitar, not roaming around the house like restless spirit. So I find myself wandering towards that very place. The **Looking **place. It's not the same one I always go to - how will it help to ease my guilt if Rhianna is sitting right there, that haunted look on her face? This one is further: it takes me a while to walk there. Tucked under a shelf of rock, surrounded by canyons that just about reach above my head, with green vines slathered all over the grey rock walls. It's sort of beautiful, in a strange way. I **Look **for Jenna.

She lies on her back in her bed. Immediately, I note that it's a little strange, because Jenna never sleeps on her back - always on her side or on her stomach. She told me once, when we were still talking, that she never felt comfortable sleeping on her back. With her hands resting lightly on her stomach, her hair splayed on the pillow and her eyes shut, she looks peaceful - hauntingly peaceful, like a corpse. In that second, I see something. I see a cloud of death hovering around her: it waits, like a shadow, prowling around her: she is the embodiment of death: but it waits, and her time is only a short wait away.

I have only a second to reflect upon this epiphany - a terrible vision - before she jerks up, quite suddenly, and begins to cough blood. My breath hitches in my throat as she runs to the bathroom, collapses on her knees, blood splattering the white tiles and dribbling onto her shirt. And I can't help her, I can only sit and watch, horrified, willing for her to stop, willing somebody to _come and fucking do something, because I can't _- and then finally they come, Tan comes and kneels beside Jenna, holding a towel to her mouth and stroking her hair, and John is calling an ambulance, and Jude is standing there looking shaken and calling her parents.

I watch as they carry her on a white stretcher into an ambulance shrouded with death that screams its way to the hospital.

The vision leaves me shaken, so shaken that I can't even follow the ambulance to the hospital, and I just lie in this **Looking **place against the stones, not even trying to get her bloodstained face out of my head. I'm shaking like a leaf, barely stable enough to walk, but I walk anyway, haltingly, home, because there's nowhere else to go, because there's nothing else I can do. Nothing, that's what. So I just lie in my bed and think about that girl dying and think about that girl dying and that's all I do. Yep.

If she dies ...

Suddenly, I jerk up, because I've had the most brilliant thought.

If Jenna dies ...

She'll come **Here **

She'll be **Here **

What am I waiting for?

* * *

'George, what are you doing?' Farrah screams and jumps out of my way as I run out of the house onto the lawn. 'She's coming, Farrah, she's coming!' I shout. 'Jenna's coming **Here**! I need to be there to welcome her!'

'Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on there.' Farrah puts both her hands on my shoulders, as though to physically hold me down. 'What are you talking about?'

'Jenna,' I gasp, why can't she _get _it? What's so hard to understand? 'Jenna is coming **Here. **I saw her, Farrah, she's dying! She's almost **Here**!'

I thought that Farrah would be happy, but instead she just looks at me a little sadly. 'George, how can you?'

'How can I what?' Now I'm just confused. What is she talking about?

'It's her life, George.' Farrah tilts her head. 'All her plans for her future, all her dreams. Everyone she loves.' Farrah shook her head. 'You lived a full life down **There,** George. Not everyone gets that privilege.'

I just stare at her. I can't even comprehend what she's saying. Jenna is coming and that's all that matters. I shake my head. 'I'm going to the **Looking **place.'

* * *

As Jenna lay on her back on a stretcher, staring up at the grey ceiling of the ambulance that screamed its way to the hospital, an odd sort of calm settled upon her. A kind of a hazy bubble around her that separated her from the whirling movement around her: white corridors rushing past her, masked strangers in green prodding her skin, sticking needles into her, taking blood tests, pressing towels roughly to her face every time she coughed more blood.

And now she was lying on a bed that was the perfect combination of not-too-soft and not-too-hard but was uncomfortable nevertheless, just because it wasn't hers. There were drug-dulled pains on the insides of her elbows, in which needles were stuck - she couldn't bear to look at those - there were drug-dulled pains everywhere. Jenna felt like every ounce of energy had been sucked out of her body; she could barely lift her eyelids to look at the flourescent lights flickering above her. Jenna braced herself and then shifted slightly to see the other side of the room: her mother sat asleep in a chair beside the bed. Jenna let out a shaky breath; something was very, very wrong with her. Was she dying?

'Jenna!' her mother gasped lightly. 'When did you wake up? Why didn't you wake me up? Are you feeling alright?'

'Yeah,' lied Jenna. 'Mom ... what's wrong with me?'

Behind the reassuring smile was worry; Jenna could see it. 'Mom, what's wrong with me?' she repeated.

Her mother hesitated. 'I don't ... wait till the doctor ... they're not quite sure ...'

'Mom, what did they say?'

'They think ... they think it might be leukemia, blood cancer. But they're not sure.'

Jenna nodded. 'Okay.'

'They'll cure you sweetheart, you'll be alright.' Her mother put on her reassuring smile and then sang one of Jenna's favourite lines, _'Don't worry about a thing, cos every little thing is gonna be alright_.'

* * *

George traces Jenna to the hospital where she lies in a white room with black curtains on a white bed in a white hospital gown that she doesn't seem to like. Her face is drawn and pale, and needles sticking into her elbows are linked up to tubes hanging from above the bed. A nurse hovers by the door; Jenna's mother sits beside the bed, wearing an everything-OK mask. He watches as an elderly man with white hair in a white coat walks in and gently informs Jenna that she has leukemia, blood cancer, at a later stage, and they don't know whether it is curable, but they will try and with weekly chemotherapy sessions, she might just be okay. Then he dispatches her with a bunch of meds and restrictions and things not to worry about.

The first thing Jenna does when she gets home is have a shower and then lie down. She looks peaky, dark shadows under her eyes, which are black, black, black. George can't stand it, just looking at her suffering and lying there. 'Jenna,' he whispers.

'George?' she gasps, and her eyes light with those kaleidoscopes again.

* * *

**Meh. This chapter doesn't feel so good right now, but it's kinda important. I'll try and update soon. :) Reviews and suggestions are welcome! -Jen. **


	23. Chapter 23

**Thank you for the reviews :) **

**I didn't think about this before, but writing about cancer is giving me really bad vibes. It just doesn't feel good describing the symptoms. Honestly, I'm shit scared of cancer. If it's alright, I won't be describing it much anymore in Jenna. I mean, the suffering bit. Obviously, I'll still write her thoughts and feelings about dying so young, etc. I hope you guy understand :] **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

* * *

**Dreamer**

**Chapter Twenty Three: How To End A Life**

Cancer.

Jenna sat cross-legged on her bed, contemplating it. She had six months left to live, the doctors said. A couple of more tests had revealed that it was not curable. And as simple as that, death tagged her. Just a couple of blood-filled syringes, and she'd been claimed.

Cancer.

Jenna wasn't a stranger to cancer. She knew lots of people who had died of cancer. One that she remembered clearly was her friend's father. It seemed like such a strange thing. Killed by nothing but the cells of your own body. A byproduct of wonderful human inventions like radiation and non-microwavable plastic. And sunlight, which was just cruel: Jenna _loved _sunlight.

Cancer.

And now she had only six months left. Jenna remembered when she was little, something that had always been extremely important to her was planning the future. At the age of three, after coming home from her first day of school, she'd decided to be a teacher. Then an artist. A poet, an astronaut, a nurse, an author, a vet, an architect - ever-changing plans for her future. Only in the past year had she really put thought into what college she wanted to go to; what she wanted to do after that. There were so many things she had to do. Travel the world. Write a book. Fall in love. Live.

Cancer.

That door of the future had to be closed before it could tempt her farther. Jenna gritted her teeth and shut the door. She locked it and threw the key away. No future - accepted. In many ways, it broadened her day-to-day life. Now she could focus on the present. One thing taken care of; one of the thousand screaming voices in her head fell silent.

Cancer.

Her existing life. The trail laid by her past. Her things. That would have to be sorted out. This was something she'd even thought about before, in those moments just before she fell asleep, or when she was showering or on a long car journey. Her little sisters could take most of her clothes; what they didn't want could go to children on the street. Her friends could take her books; what they didn't want could go to charity too. That was simple enough. But there were things that no one should have. Jenna's things, that held _her _memories. Those must be untouched. She would sort out her things, seeing what could be thrown away or given away, and the ones that could not be destroyed or held by other hands would go into a box that would be sealed and plunged into the depths of the basement, to be discovered centuries later by people who had no idea who she was. One more thing taken care of; another voice died down.

Cancer.

The people she loved. That one would be the hardest. Because now who would listen to her mother's woes when her brother stormed away and her father didn't listen? And who would Kylie talk to every day on the phone for hours? And who would make the cakes for every relative's birthday? And who would tell her mother and brother to stop fighting? Jenna knew that the world would not stop when she died; but there were things that she knew would affect her family. That question lay unanswered.

Cancer.

How on earth could someone just wrap a life, just like that?

Cancer.

Cancer.

Cancer.

* * *

It's early, early morning, so early that the light is drowning the air out. I go down to the lawn in my kurta, and am standing on the porch when see it: a white note tacked up to my door. Written in Farrah's spiky scrawl, telling me to go down to the **Looking **place now. Since that's where I was headed anyway, I crumple the note into my pocket and head off.

At the **Looking **place, I stop for a moment: because a voice has just called out. Is it calling me? No, it's not. I can't make out what it's saying. The source of the voice arrives in the form of two figures.

One of them I recognize as Farrah, her distinctive auburn hair turned coppery in the light. I don't recognize the other. It's a man - a boy - and I wonder what he's doing here. Is he a friend of Farrah's?

But my question is answered.

For the first time in I don't know how long, a white-dressed figure with red hair appears outside the **Looking **place. Her red hair tangled, dark shadows above her cheekbones, in her glazed eyes there ignites a spark I haven't seen before. A smile spreads across her face, the smile of a crazy person, the kind of smile that hasn't been smiled in a long time and has suddenly exploded into the biggest smile ever;

she screams, 'REN!'

When did I last hear that name? The day Rhianna died; the day I first sang to Jenna.

Across the dew-specked grass she runs, flying past me, barefoot on the wet lawn, towards the boy. When they crash into each other's arms, like they've been apart for a million years, I feel like I'm witnessing something beautiful: they've been apart for almost two years, and yet their love has reunited so doubtlessly, so wholly. They just stand there, figures entwined, and Farrah and I decide to leave them alone and head back into the house.

* * *

**Any fans of The Fray out there? There's a reference to one of their songs in the chapter title. :) So, this isn't very long, I know, I've been super busy with schoolwork. But I've got the next chapter planned out and I'll try to put it up soon! Thanks for reading. :D -Jen. **


	24. Chapter 24

**Thank you so much for the reviews! :D **

**I'm sorry I haven't been updating so frequently. I have exams and all that bleh. I'm so glad people like and follow this story, and I can't tell you how thankful I am :))) I guess you guys know that the story is kinda sorta reaching the end. Not quite, but in a couple of chapters. If you have anything you'd like me to put in, any suggestions, improvements, I'll be glad to hear them :) So this chapter is kind of whateverish. **

* * *

**Dreamer**

**Chapter Twenty Four: Living The Life**

The sky was not beautiful today.

As if to prove to Jenna that her dying meant nothing. It was flat, undulating blue - not the pretty kind. Dirty blue. Or grey blue. At least that's how it looked through Jenna's window.

She decided to go out to sit on the terrace anyway. The sky would not promise her three months of gorgeous skies, but she could use the fresh air - three months of it before her lungs couldn't take more. Jenna immediately winced - she hated thinking that way. Like an old person. She had to _use _these three months.

Except there was nothing to be done today. Today, quite simply, was an evening to sit on the terrace and stare at the flat, undulating, blue sky.

So Jenna sat. And after a while the terrace door opened and Tan sat next to her. They hadn't spoken properly since the night at the hospital. She'd been too exhausted to thank him that night, but he _had _done an awful lot - held back her hair while she threw up, sat with her in the ambulance - she could even vaguely remember clenching his hand in her fist when the doctors plunged needles in and out of her skin, like gigantic savage mosquitoes.

Jenna wondered what she would've done if it was Tan diagnosed with terminal cancer. What would she have said? She couldn't begin to imagine. He could hardly know better; she decided to make things easier for him. 'Hey,' she said. He offered a smile. 'Hey,' he responded. 'How are you?'

Jenna smiled. 'Fine,' she said, and then she was consumed by a sudden irrational urge to giggle at the somberness of it all. 'You don't have to talk to me like I'm _dying_, you know,' she said suddenly, grinning. Tan looked at her blankly. 'Um, Jen. But you _are _dying.'

'True,' giggled Jenna. She didn't know why she felt like _laughing _so much suddenly. All she knew was that suddenly she couldn't stop. 'It's - just - so -' she was convulsed in spasms of hysteria. Tan looked at her quizzically, then started chuckling too, shaking his head. 'She's dying, and she's still laughing,' he said bemusedly. 'Well.'

'It's just,' gasped Jenna when she couldn't laugh anymore, 'Everyone keeps acting like I'm already dead. It's kind of _funny_.'

'What's funny about it?' Tan pretended to be offended.

'Nothing,' she patted his hair comfortingly. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Without thinking, Tan took out a packet of cigarettes to smoke one, then wordlessly put it back. Jenna pretended not to notice, to spare him.

'Let's do something,' he said suddenly. 'Let's do something crazy.'

Jenna stared at him. Then she got up, grabbed his hand and dragged him up. 'We're going to do something crazy,' she decided. 'Let's go.'

* * *

George sits at the **Looking **place. He **Looks **around for Jenna and finally finds her in an extremely unlikely place. Incurable cancer - he thought she'd be strapped to a bed with constant supervision and tubes and whatnot. Cancer - how ironic that the same fate that took him will take her too. But instead, she's walking through an old monument in the middle of the city with a bunch of people. They're all hanging out, some of them singing and playing guitars, just - just hanging out. They watch a couple of songs at a concert happening in the middle of the stone monument. Then they wander into a little café with music posters plastered all over the walls and a Rasta reggae band playing. Then they wander down to a bunch of rocks overlooking a sea of lights and sit there. And none of them bring up the cancer. Some of them are smoking. Tan holds Jenna's hand; he kisses her cheek when they sit down. George can't even feel jealous. Jenna's friends might not mention anything about her limited time to live, but he can see from the way they are acting that it means a lot to them. And he feels sad for their loss; they're going to lose that girl.

* * *

The night didn't end with blood in the sink as most had been doing for Jenna; this one ended with all of them going back to Jenna and John's house. John put on his iPod and played some feelgood Bob Marley stuff, and soon all of them were crashed out on various surfaces in the room, except for John and Jude, who were outside smoking, and Jenna and Tan, who were sitting inside on the sofa. The speakers were now softly playing _Stir It Up_, which made Jenna feel happy, because it was one of her favourite songs. It was one of those moments where you talk and don't do anything else, something deep shared. Jenna thought that was the very base of her relationship with Tan: talking. So they talked, for long. And talked. And talked.

Till there was a small space of silence, filled by the snores of some of their friends, and that reggae bass line Jenna loved. She hesitated. This was where she brought It up. Wasn't that what she was supposed to do? Dying of a terminal sickness, make sure that she didn't hurt anyone while she left? After all, he'd be sad when she died and maybe she could spare him some of that hurt if she stopped dating him now. Except she really didn't want to. A life was meant to be lived. This was how she wanted to live it.

But it had to be done ... didn't it?

'You don't have to do this,' she said, hesitantly. Tan looked at her quizzically. 'I'm going to die, after all, you know.'

Tan shook his head. 'Don't talk bullshit,' he said seriously, and then grinned. 'Gawd, Jen, honestly, you're so _stupid _sometimes! Who do you think I _am_? Of _course _I'm still going to do this!' He laughed, and then Jenna laughed too. Of course. She knew that.

A little bit later, lying on the sofa next to Tan, with his arm slung around her waist as he slept, a thought struck Jenna. She was going to die a virgin. Unless she wanted to infect someone with leukemia. She'd die without doing a lot of other things too. She'd just have to try and do as many as she could before that. She had already done one: fall in love.

A little voice saying _George _nagged at the back of her mind. A shiver of excitement ran through her.

Jenna loved this life, but the thrill of finding out what came next was drawing her slowly forward.

* * *

**To all the Tan-haters - I'm sorry! But I wanted Jenna to have a proper HUMAN relationship. And. It just struck me that I don't really know why I named this story Dreamer. Sort of because Jenna is a dreamer ... yata schmata ... me with my spaced-out brain and random ideas ... so if anyone has ideas for why this story should be called Dreamer, or has a better alternative title - suggestions are welcome! :D Thanks again for reading. =) -Jen. **


	25. Chapter 25

**It's short, I know. I haven't been getting enough time to write lately. :/ This chapter isn't very happening either ... I don't know why I wrote it ... but yeah. :P So tell me what you think? :) **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

* * *

**Dreamer**

**Chapter Twenty Five: I'll Be There**

George is waiting.

He watches the **Looking **place almost everyday, even though he doesn't speak to Jenna. He checks everyday, just to make sure she's still alive, because the second she arrives **Here**, he wants to be there to receive her. But she looks just fine; she continues to go to school. Only some of her friends know. She goes for chemotherapy sessions once or twice a week, but a single hair on her head hasn't fallen out. George is relieved, truly, because he would hate to see her suffering. But he still waits everyday, for the day when she will come.

Today he finds her in her room, sorting things. Large piles of things that could not possibly have any use have emerged from drawers, cupboards, nooks and crannies in Jenna's room. Diaries, trinkets, cards and letters from friends, drawings made by her little sisters, boxes of beads and baubles, glitter tubes and scraps of textured paper. Shells, stones, pebbles, dried leaves; bits of fabric; reams of raggedy ribbons; what on earth does she _do _with this stuff?

George hesitates, opening his mouth to speak, then shuts it again. She's so immersed: picking up something with a gasp of surprise, a reminiscent smile lighting her eyes, pushing her dark hair back to look at it closer; sorting through things, piles of things to be treasured, given away or thrown; giggling at some drawings that had evidently been made by a very small child; she straightens out the crumpled edges and sets that in the pile of things to be kept.

It's hard work, to dispose of a life, thinks George.

'What is that?' George risks speaking finally, as Jenna picks up a tiny dilapidated fairy doll whose limbs are made of brown wire, with a wooden bead for a head, yellow yarn stuck on for hair and a lopsided smiley face drawn on with a crayon.

Jenna stills, not lifting her eyes from the doll in her hands. After a long moment, she says, 'A fairy. I used to make them when I was nine.'

She answered him! She's not ignoring him! 'It's cute,' says George. A half-smile flickers on Jenna's lips. Then she says, 'I haven't heard from you in a while.'

George doesn't know what to say. He can think of a million things, but none of them seem to fit. He stares at her, her fingers twisting the fairy's wooden head, fiddling with its flower skirt. 'I met Rhianna,' he blurts. Jenna's head snaps up, though her eyes don't fix on anything: of course, she can't see him. 'What?' she gasps.

'I met Rhianna,' answers George. Jenna blinks. 'How is she?' she asks.

'She's alright,' George tells her. 'She was a little disoriented, but she met that boy. Ren.' George scrunches his nose, unsure if that was the boy's name. Jenna's eyes are fixed on something distant, and then a smile spreads on her lips. 'That's nice,' she says softly. 'I ... that's nice.' She sets the fairy doll down carefully and hugs her legs. 'George,' she says.

'Yeah, love?'

Jenna grins when he says this; then the grin fades into a thoughtful expression. 'I'm dying,' she tells him.

'I know, love.'

'But I don't feel like it,' mumbles Jenna, frowning, tracing the line of her ankle to her little toe. 'Not right now.'

George isn't sure what to say, so he's silent.

'Not at all,' murmurs Jenna, then jumps to her feet, grinning. 'I feel just fine, George!' She runs, lithe as a deer, out of the door and down the street, barefoot, hair streaming behind her, laughing like a child. 'I feel just fine!' She leans against a tree, still laughing. 'Is this how it felt when you died?'

'It hurt so much,' George recalls, 'Everything hurt. I was older.'

'I wish I wasn't dying,' says Jenna; her voice sounds young, like a child whining about having to go to school. 'It's so ...' her voice trails off and she reaches up to touch the branches of the tree. 'Will I get you see you?' she asks hesitantly. Her face is turned upwards, a little, and an orange-gold ray of sunlight slants across her eyes.

'The second you arrive, I'll be there.' He says it without thinking, but once the words leave his lips he bites them, wondering how she will take it.

But Jenna just smiles, like she's been put at ease, and says, 'Alright.'


	26. Chapter 26

**HEY PEEPS. 9 days since I last updated. I'm sososo sorry, I was kind of having a block and also, studying trignometry and logarithms does not (surprisingly) put one in a creative mood. BUT. My exams shall soon be over and then I will finish writing this story. :) Pinky promise. And I do not ever break a pinky promise. **

**Also ... this chapter is kinda random ... It was sort of spontaneous (in the twenty minutes of freedom I had when my mom went to wash her hair and wasn't glaring down my back to make sure I was practicing Math) but the next chapter will definitely carry the story forward. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

* * *

**Dreamer**

**Chapter Twenty Six: Waiting**

Two months have passed.

One is left.

. . .

* * *

Jenna held up her camera and pressed her eye against the viewfinder. She twisted the focusing ring; focusing, unfocusing. Focusing, unfocusing. Unfocused was how she felt right now, but in a good sort of way ... maybe. The dark shape of the mountains seemed to merge in with the sky, except for the glimmers white snow gleaming on the ridges of rock, and the stars that eclipsed the blackness, almost. Two months left, and she was on the last road trip; Jenna loved road trips. Through her life, her parents had taken her and John on plenty of road trips, sometimes driving up to a point and then flying somewhere from there, or just driving. Through the countryside, to the ocean, to different cities, sometimes even villages; Jenna liked the ocean and mountains the best, because being next to those large beings, indestructible forces of nature, that dwarfed all human creations so immensely, made her feel smaller, more a part of the universe. The seaside at this time of the year would be extremely crowded, but this little mountain-town was perfect: it was a little bohemian, suited to the tastes of backpacking foreign tourists, or just a nice place to have a vacation.

A floorboard creaked lightly as Tan walked barefoot across the little balcony outside their rooms. Their rooms were not expensive; three shared the same balcony, but it was a nice hotel all the same. He sat next to her on the slightly damp wooden balcony. A soft musical thump indicated that he was holding his guitar, and then there was a little silence while she turned to focus the camera on him: focusing, unfocusing.

Tan said, 'I wrote a song.'

Then she was all ears, putting the camera down and looking at him eagerly. Tan chuckled a little at her eagerness and ran his thumb across the strings; twisted one of the knobs a little bit to tune the instrument, and then started playing. It was a beautiful song, a song of happy afternoons in the sunlight and mornings in cool dew-speckled hillsides, evenings traipsing through a little bohemian hill station and nights sitting on a wooden balcony under a starwashed sky and looking out to a light-strewn valley. It was a song about living and about chilling, a song about not worrying and a song about letting the bad things pass.

Jenna thought it was beautiful.

When Tan was done, he set his guitar aside and put his arms around Jenna. She leaned back against him; it sounded incredibly corny, but they fit together so well. That moment was so content and happy that Jenna didn't at first realise that the breaks in Tan's even breathing and the rise and fall of his chest under her meant that he was crying. She drew away slightly so that she could see his face: his cheeks were not wet, but his eyes were glassy. The only times Jenna had seen Tan cry were when they were watching Toy Story 3 and Titanic. She touched the side of his face comfortingly, and he gave her a small smile. 'I'm sorry,' he told her. 'It's alright,' said Jenna, and smiled a little, 'Don't worry. Be happy.' She sang the last four words; it was one of her favourite songs, and he knew it too. She kissed him and then resumed her position next to him, resting her head on his shoulder and looking out to the dark shapes of the hills.

* * *

George was wandering.

He wandered the beautiful gardens surrounding his Friar Park - his little recreation of Friar Park - not aimlessly, because that would perhaps indicate that he had nothing better to do. George liked walking through these lawns, barefoot, humming happily to himself. He was wandering to while away time; hours could be passed drifting through the slanting rays of sunlight that fell through the trees. George was in Waiting.

He picked up a white blossom from the leaf-scattered ground, wondering what Jenna's favourite flower was. There was so much he had still to learn. Watching her through her daily life had taught him many things about her, but there still so much to find out! And that he could do when she came here. She could stay with him in Friar Park, or maybe they could wander through all of **Here**; George had never really gone far. She and Farrah would get along so well.

And finally Jenna would be his. George smiled to himself, then wider and wider and then he laughed with joy, a loud bellow laugh that rang through the bird's warbles in the trees.

When he stopped, the silence was deafening. It crushed him to the ground, almost, with its weight.

'Jenna,' said George, frustrated with Waiting. 'Where are you?'

. . .

* * *

**...a sincere apology to the Tan-haters, but I am kind of super happy with real-life Tan (the guy the character is based off). Don't worry, this will always be a George story though 3 Please don't forget to review! And thanks for reading :) -Jen. **


	27. Chapter 27

**This is slightly random. I wasn't sure what to do :P Thanks for the reviews on the last chapter! :) **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

* * *

**Dreamer**

**Chapter Twenty Seven: The First Goodbye**

Jenna stood in front of her old-fashioned wooden school desk, holding its lid up by the latch to reveal the books stacked inside it. Around her, the classroom was abuzz with thirty kids eager to grab their books and get out of the classroom they had sat in for the whole of the tenth grade - the next time they entered it, it would be an examination hall, not a place to doodle and look out of the window and listen to the teacher droning on and on. Jenna was not particularly nervous for her exams. For one, she knew she would do alright if she studied well; she wasn't interested in topping any subject. For another, Jenna saw no reason for her to worry about these exams affecting her future. Her future was already laid out in stone. These end-of-year tenth grade exams seemed trivial and pointless now.

Every year, at the end of the school year, Jenna packed her books into her backpack, uttering a fluent stream of curses because her bag was so damn _heavy_, and feeling as though she was ending a segment of her life, like wrapping up a parcel to place on a shelf. It meant that she was officially putting away everything that had happened that year; the good and the bad; when school opened in January, it would be a _new _year, new beginnings. She could vow to herself to _not _cover the margins of her textbooks with doodles, secretly knowing that it was futile, but promising it to herself anyway. She could forget about those particularly horrible chapters she'd nearly failed in Biology, and forget all about those Maths sums, because in her next class, she would learn them all over again, even if on a more advanced level. And it also meant how large a part of her life school was. Ever since the age of three and a half - she'd joined school a year early - Jenna's life had been _defined _by school, almost. Her daily routine: her _weekly _routine, really. Wake up, go to school. Meet your friends in school. Study in school. Die in school; have fun in school. Weekends were refuge from school. The bell at the end of the day was freedom from school. Holidays were carefree and bright-spirited and dizzying because of the absence of school. School was the single continuous factor of every privileged child's life. Without it, a childhood would be completely different, and Jenna didn't know if it would be good or bad.

Leaving school was a big deal. The twelfth-graders began their goodbyes at the end of the year, looking at each passing event in school with fondness, the good things and the dreaded things, just because they would never be there again. And then there were the graduation ceremonies, the goodbyes, the tears.

This was Jenna's last real school day. And it only occurred to her as she was packing up her books at the _end_. School technically continued till the twenty-first of December; but they would be having exams in the remaining days, and exams were not really school. The last day of school, the twenty-first, wouldn't really be _normal _school either: there would be no classes, of course, no syllabus left for the teachers to complete.

Twelve years of coming to this place five days a week from eight thirty to two thirty. Jenna tried to picture her life without school; if she'd been homeschooled, she would probably not have bothered to learn all of those tough Chemistry chapters she had to do for her exams. Not that _that _would have bothered her, but still. She wouldn't have made the same friends; her tastes might have been different; what would occupy her days?

'Are you alright?' asked Kylie, squinting at Jenna. Jenna blinked. 'I'm fine,' she said, but she thought Kylie knew what was wrong, because she just gave her a little smile and left her to her thoughts and to her first proper goodbye.

* * *

George was soaking in the sunlight in his living room. After a spell of winter-tinged days, the sun was finally out; probably the last warm day before the snow began. The sunlight made the strings of George's guitar shiny, like tawny flax. He ran his fingers over them and spun out a chord: it broke down a dam and the song started to stretch itself out like a river breaking down a mountainside, and George's fingers tripped over the strings to keep up with it. He was so absorbed that he didn't notice Rhianna appear.

Since Ren and Rhianna's reunion, they had left Friar Park. George didn't know where they had gone, but he knew they were happy, so that was alright.

Randomly, George said, 'Jenna's coming back.'

Rhianna's eyes flicked up. 'How do you know Jenna? You mentioned her before, too.' She frowns. 'The first day I came to Friar Park.'

'I just saw her through the **Looking **place,' said George. 'She has leukemia.'

Rhianna's eyes widened. 'So she's going to die?'

George nodded.

'And come here?'

George nodded again.

Rhianna considered this and then said, 'I'd like that.' Her eyes drifted, where to George didn't know. He sighed and played a chord on his guitar. 'I would, too.'

* * *

**Thanks for reading! :) Hey, do me a favour and check out my other stories Getting Better and Nowhere Girl? I promise you'll like them if you like this one. Getting Better is about how Paul deals with Linda's death, and meets another girl named Jillian. Nowhere Girl is a John story. I'll try and post another chapter of this story tomorrow, if not later today. :) -Jen. **


	28. Chapter 28

**I know. It's been a month. My story is now on page THREE of the fanfiction archive - a new low :O Before I dish out the excuses, I give you full permission to not review to punish me for being such a horrible person. Honestly, I'm such a hypocrite, I always stop following stories that don't update regularly because the authors just don't care. I do care, it's just that I had a writer's block and also had been into photography a lot more, so that took my focus off writing. Then I was on vacation for a week - that spurred my writing a lot! **

**So even if you don't review - and I don't blame you in the slightest for that - please do at least read this chapter, because I really want you to know how Jenna and George's story ends. This is not the last chapter, but I'll be getting there soon. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

* * *

**Dreamer**

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Get Out And Live**

Jenna frowned at the white, flourescent lights flickering above her. Her exhaustion couldn't curb her discomfort of being in a hospital; even as a visitor she had always hated hospitals, that sickeningly sweet-sharp antiseptic smell that hid hundreds of thousands of infections, identical white corridors with identical white rooms and uncomfortable beds, drips and beeping machines and needles that always made a person look like they were on life support, and worst of all that feeling of _sickness_. That everything in this dreaded building was sick, wounded or dying. Never before had _she _been the one lying in the bed surrounded by family members who were smiley-face masks over their grim expressions. It was always someone else - her grandmother, once or twice, her grandfather on several occasions, even her mother and brother, who had been mildly injured in a car accident one year, which she had escaped unscathed. And that was unpleasant enough, standing on the white smooth floors with her arms wrapped around herself, not touching anything around her, hating how small and thin the person in the white sterile bed always looked, weak and tangled up with needles and tubes.

Now she lay in the bed, the mattress too soft and sinky for her to relax into, a needle stuck into the inside of her elbow - she couldn't bear to look at it, it made her feel sick - staring monochromatically out of the large windows which offered a view of the daytime city interspersed with flat roads. The sky was bleached-blue with pollution. Hot, dusty air trickled in through the gap that the nurse had opened in the window 'to let in fresh air'. It smelled like car exhaust fumes. Jenna glanced around the room: her mother was slumped asleep on the sofa. She slipped her feet off the bed, tiptoed up to the window and shut it.

'Jenna!'

The nurse stood in the doorway, tray in hand. 'Jenna, you are not supposed to get up! We're all right here waiting to do whatever you want! Do you want to get better or not?'

A mouthful of sadistic responses leapt to Jenna's lips. She'd already been told that she was not getting better; it could only be prolonged. Instead, she sat down on the bed and sighed. 'I don't want all of you waiting to do whatever I want,' she said.

'Well, you'll not be getting up from that bed whether you want to or not!' Maya shook her head, and the stern expression melted into sympathy. She set the tray down. Jenna stared desolately at the food. She hated hospital food.

'Now, eat that up and I'll be back in fifteen minutes with the doctor,' said Maya, leaving the door swinging in her wake.

'George, I'm going to die,' Jenna half-sobbed, half-laughed, a frustrated whisper into her palm.

'No, you're not! You'll make it out, I promise. You can do this, Jen, you can fight the cancer -'

'I didn't mean that,' said Jenna, suddenly filled with the urge to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, 'I meant just being in this goddamn hospital! I hate hospitals, I hate them, I can't bear being here! I'm wasting my time! Here I am stuck in this stupid thing -' she tugged the material of her sickly green gown - 'I'm not even allowed to comb my own hair. I hate having knots in my hair, George!' She tore a hand through her unbearably knotted hair - it felt like the knots were eating her alive. Tangle-free hair was a top priority for Jenna. 'I'm wasting my time. I shouldn't be stuck here. This is not living, this is like - like - a hotel for the dead. A waiting room.'

'Then leave,' said George simply. 'And live.'

Jenna stared at the tray and then shoved it off her lap. Decisively, she swung her legs off the bed, tugging the goddamn IV drip away from her skin with a strangled gasp - she stopped the growing dot of red with a fistful of her sheet - and pushed the chair up against the door, tore off her hospital robes and pulled on her jeans. She wore all of her clothes, then scrubbed the hospital-feeling off her hands with hospital-smelling soap, picked up her comb and tore it through her hair till every single knot was freed.

'Jenna!' screamed her mother, waking up to find her daughter fully dressed and ready to head out. 'Where are you going? What are you doing? You're not supposed to get up, the nurse said! What do you think you're doing?'

'I'm not going to die in a hospital,' answered Jenna, as simply as George had said it. 'I'm going out to live.'

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**Filler, random, I know. But I just had to post _something_. I've been writing chapters and deleting them because they're not consequential or entertaining - one reason for my late update - but I hope you'll hang on to see the end of this story anyway. I won't beg you to review because I really don't deserve it, but I can promise you that updates will be more frequent now. Every day if I can. (Unlikely). Okay every other day, I'll update at least one of my stories. Blackbird and Getting Better will be updated soon too, promise. Pinky swear. I might delete Nowhere Girl, because of the lack of followers :S But please, please hang in there and wait for the end! :) -Jen. **


	29. Chapter 29

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

* * *

**Dreamer**

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Endings and Beginnings**

In retrospect, it was all very simple.

She was walking, and she fell. Tan rushed to her side. 'Jenna!' He reached his hand out to help her up, but something was not right. 'Tan,' she said.

'No, Jen, wait! I'll - hang on there, I'll just call someone - it'll be okay -'

'Tan,' repeated Jenna. She touched the side of his face, and it seemed to make him momentarily still, 'It's okay.' She kissed him. 'Can you call my family?' He nodded, squeezed her fingers, 'It'll be alright, I promise, just hang on!' He stood up, turned on his heel and ran. Jenna did not feel like moving, but she could see most of the room - she could see the photographs framed on the shelf. Pictures of the family. Herself as a baby, John as a chubby toddler. Growing up. Birthday parties. Plays. Below the shelf was that sofa - it had been blue-and-white checked when they were living in the other house - she was just four then - now it was a deep raw-silk red. She loved it - so many winter evenings with a book had been on that sofa. She'd even made out with Tan on it sometimes. Each thing in that living room had a story that she remembered. The piano: gleaming beautiful wood, she longed to touch it once more, but she knew that she didn't have the energy. On top of it balanced a chipped ceramic plate - rather shabby, as she had tried to tell her mother several times and remove it, though her mother always put it back - she had painted it when she was six and presented it to her parents on their anniversary. Too many stories, too many memories. She let them all slide by and into the darkness: her greatest fear, losing her memory: but she would need it no longer, and it would be preserved by others, in these things and in their memories.

'Jenna!' gasped her mother, rushing into the room. 'Call an ambulance -' She and John knelt beside Jenna. 'Mom, calm down,' she told her, her refrain to her mother, as ever. 'It's okay. I don't want an ambulance.' Her mother's eyes widened. 'No, Jenna, you can make it -'

'I don't want to,' said Jenna, and it was true: she had lived, and now she was done. Her mother and John nodded, understanding. Where was Dad? Something like a drug, euphoria, was infusing her. What was it? 'I love you,' she said. 'Don't worry about me ... I'm going on an adventure.' Suddenly, Jenna laughed, a sound of pure joy and excitement. 'I'm going on an adventure.'

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**That was hard to write :S Well, you all know this isn't the last chapter. That will be the next one. Or actually, 29 is an ugly number so I might just add another vela George chapter and then the epilogue. (I've been waiting ages to write it!) As usual, I love criticism/ideas/anysortofresponse :) Thanks for reading! -Jen. **


	30. Chapter 30

**Second last chapter :') These fanfictions grow up so fast. **

**In case you forgot (because I did too), Tadpole is Jenna's three year old sister. Her real name isn't Tadpole of course, but I felt like putting in a little bit with her. **

**Also, I SAW SANTANA ON SUNDAY :D sorry, just had to brag about that. He's the only person I'll ever see who performed in Woodstock. AND IT WAS AWESOME 3 Because I am so happy about that I decided to update. The next (and last) chapter will be up soon! **

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Beatles or anything else you might recognize. **

* * *

**Dreamer**

**Chapter Thirty: The World of Tadpole**

****George is sitting under the trees again, his favourite place where the sunlight falls in shafts like lights descending from heaven. Heaven! thinks George, how strange - **Here i**s not a heaven, not quite, but it is the same concept really. A Place to Go. There are other Places to Go, George knows - he's even Gone to some of them, briefly - but he is quite content **Here**. And besides, Jenna is coming.

He wonders what the nature of their relationship will be - they will figure it out, when she comes. George doesn't know how, but they will. Because guess what! They won't be worlds apart now. She'll be **Here **and he will too, and she'll actually _see _him. He's so excited that he drops his guitar and runs up and down the aisles of sunlight, working off his energy. Then he stops, out of breath, and leans against a tree: he can't be tired out when she comes. Or sweaty. She doesn't like sweaty boys. What else doesn't she like? Suddenly, George is nervous.

That's when a figure comes pelting down the green half-hill, auburn hair streaming out. A red-haired girl - Rhianna - appears on the crown of the hill behind her. 'George,' gasps Farrah, stopping in front of him, her face stark white. 'She's coming.'

* * *

~JENNA~

I feel like I'm floating in warm water, or perhaps riding on a thermal above the clouds. A little bit strange in the head - like being high. I turn over in space and my hair makes swirls, like it's underwater - even though I'm not. This is a strange place, made up of shadows and stars and peacefulness. Tadpole drifts past me. I reach out and catch my baby sister. 'Tadpole! What are you doing here?'

'Oh, this is just a little place I like to come to, sometimes. You've been here too, you just don't remember it.' I stare at her, surprised - she's not this good talking, She's just three, after all. Suddenly she sounds so mature and knowledgable, it's unrealistic.

'Since when did you get so smart and grown-up?' I ask in wonder.

'I always was,' says Tadpole solemnly, 'you just couldn't see it back **There**.'

'Tadpole, I didn't get to say bye to you,' I say, suddenly remembering.

'It's okay, Jiji,' says Tadpole, patting my cheek reassuringly with a chubby hand. 'We'll see each other again. There are loads of places like this where we can meet.' She waves her short arm to their surroundings.

'There are?' I ask.

Tadpole nods, her big baby eyes serious. 'Just not for a while. I have to go now!' With that, she starts to drift away happily.

'No, Tadpole, wait! What is this place? Is this where I'm going to be forever?

'No,' says Tadpole. 'You'll see ...' And laughing her little baby laugh, she disappears, leaving me alone.

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**Thanks for reading! And thank you all for the reviews :) -Jen. **


	31. The End (and a super long Author's note)

; she found herself lying on something soft that smelled earthy. it smelled like memories of playing with the neighbourhood dogs in her secret part of the garden, the one john didnt know about. when her eyes began to see, she saw that she was lying on grass in a big field, and sunlight was falling all nice and warm on her. the big field had people laying around on it, smoking and listening to music, dressed in colourful clothes like hippies. she followed the sound of music to an even bigger field where there were so many people that the stage was a distant platform of musicians thrown into epiphanies of their own creation, across a sea of people. just like that, she's standing below them, face tilted up, one with the people and the music. she liked it there, the people were nice and they were all chilled out, this was the kind of life she used to think about back home, stuck in an endless cycle of school and outward appearances and duties. so she stayed for a while, but she knew there was somewhere else she had to be. so she moved on, to a big city, and wandered there, first with a parade of rainbow-clad people, women dressed like men and men dressed like women, and some who she couldn't identify, but they were all nice anyway, and they were all dancing, so she danced too. then she boarded a subway and it took her to a station next to a pub, and in the pub there were men in leather jackets and women in tight dresses and she asked them if they knew the place where she had to go, she didn't know its name but she could describe it. it's big, she said, nice big trees and big fields and a big house. one girl said yes, i know a place like that, and she put her in a newspaper taxi and sent her off there. when the newspaper taxi stopped, she got out and thanked it, and then ran not towards the house but towards the big trees. there was a boy there, a beautiful one whose face she knew how to draw. he looked up, and the guitar slid from his hands. he said,

'Jenna?'

and a sunbeam smile came onto his face.

she said,

'George'

and the sunlight made her eyes into beautiful kaleidoscopes

and then they were standing in front of each other

sunlight in their eyes

and he laughed and said, 'you're finally here'

and she smiled and said, 'yes

I'm finally **Here**.'

**THE END **

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**Well, there you have it. The end of Dreamer. A work of 163 days. This was my favourite story to work on, even though there's not so much scope for cutesie fluff when there's no physical contact. This, what happened to Jenna, is just a little dream that all of us Beatlefans have. Because we know that the Beatles will never truly be gone. Even though I don't believe in the afterlife, I do like to believe that George and John still live, in my heart :') **

**I want to thank every single writer who has reviewed this story, because you all made my confidence so much bigger, even though you could be creepy guys in libraries. I've been on fanfiction for almost a year now, but I think it's time for me to close my account. I'll tell you why: every teenage girl goes through a big Obsession Phase. For many lucky girls, this happens to be One Direction or Justin Bieber or some LIVING thing, but mine had to be the Beatles, and since I couldn't possibly twist myself into believing I have a chance to marry George Harrison, writing was my consolation. Writing about the Beatles to be specific. But like all obsessions, it ran out. Don't get me wrong, I love the Beatles still. Each and every song (other than Eleanor Rigby and the Mr. Kite one). It's just that I don't need to write about them all the time anymore. **

**And also this story discloses many details about my life and if somebody figured out who I am I would just die of embarrassment. So I will be deleting this, and all my other stories, in a week. I am so, so sorry I never finished Nowhere Girl and Getting Better. To be fair, nobody even reviewed them, so they won't be missed. It does go against all my principles as a writer, but there's just no point in forcing myself to finish those stories if I just don't feel it. **

**Okay I'm done now. Again. Thanks for reading :D love, Jen. **


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